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RKV.  I'.  I,.  J)ri--i-Y,  \A..  I). 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES 


POEMS 


BY 


REV.  P.  L.  DUFFY,  LL.  D. 


(ILEX) 


CHARLESTON,  S.  C. 
NICHOLAS  G.  DUFFY,  PRINTER 

1908 


COPYRIGHT,  1908, 
BY 

REV.   P.   L.   DlTKFY,   Uv.   D. 


PS 

3507 


PREFACE. 


>.  Yielding    to    the    kind    and  urgent  request    of    indulgent 

;  friends,  men  whom  I  could  not  refuse,  I  have  collected  for  this 
Volume  verses  written  at  intervals  during  busy  years  of  parish 
work. 

jr  I  am  a  Priest  of  God,  a  laborer  in  His  Vineyard,  and  these 

in 

verses  are   but    the  glint  on    the  grape  ;  at    most  but  wayside 

z     flowers  culled  on   the  way  to  and  from  the  work  of   my  Master 
of  the  Vineyard,  with  never  a  dream  of  pressing  them  between 
Q      the  covers  of  a  book. 

Few  have  been  the  hours  on  Parnassus,  many  on    Calvary 

O 

O       and  the  happiest  at  the  Altar  of  my  God. 
(Q 

ui  THE  AUTHOR. 

Charleston,   S.   C. 


44.8370 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

SON,  GIVE  ME  THY  HEART,         ...         1 
Tu  Es  SACERDOS,          .  .  3 

KIAWAH,        .......         6 

MATER  DOLOROSA,        .  .  8 

MEMORIAL  ODE,    .  .         .  9 

THE  SACRED  HEART,   .        .  11 

A  GOLDEN  WEDDING, 13 

AFTERNOON  IN  ST.  PETER'S,         .         .         .14 
BENEATH  THE  PINES,    .         .  .16 

SUNSET  AT  SEA,    .  .        ...      17 

DEVOIR,         ....  19 

HER   VIOLIN,         .  .  .         .       20 

THE  MAN  WITH  THE  HOE,    .         .  .21 

HER  MITE,   .  ....      23 

HAMPTON,      ...  ...       24 

MAGDALEN,    .         .  ....       26 

AVE  VERUM,          ....  .28 

BESIDE  THE  SEA,          30 

THE  SHADOWED  HEART,       .  .31 

ADVENT, 32 

THE  REQUIEM  OF  THE  RAIN,  .      33 

AT  KILLARNEY,      ...  35 

A  GOLDEN  JUBILEE, 37 

MARSE  CHAN,        .  39 

THE  CATHEDRAL,  .  ...       40 

MAGNOLIA  GARDENS,     .....       42 
THE  DEAD  KNIGHT,      ...  .43 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 
ON  THE  BEACH,    ...  44 

CHOICE, 45 

A  SABBATH, 46 

FATHER  DAMIEN'S   PORTRAIT,  47 

Rus  IN  URBE,       ...  48 

BIRTHDAY  LINES,         .....       50 
A  VOTIVE  LEAF,  ...  .51 

EDKLWHISS,  .  53 

WHY  WKEPEST  THOU  ?  .54 

VIOL  57 

YACHTING,    ...  58 

His  ROSRS,    .  ....       59 

UNDER  THE  OAKS,        .....       60 
HEALING,      .  .  .61 

A  CLASSMATE, 63 

MEMORIAL  DAY,  ...... 

Music, 66 

A  PICTURED  CHILD,     .....       67 
STELLA  MARIS,     ......       68 

LILIES, 69 

ANGEL-WISE,          ......       70 

STARLIGHT,  ...  ...       71 

AN  INNOCENT  VICTIM.          .         .         .         -72 

SUMMITS,       .......       74 

SONNETS. 

CLOISTERED,  ...  79 

IN  MEMORIAM,      .  .  .         .       80 

THE  LABARUM,     .  .  .81 

LEO  XIII,     .  82 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
A  SILVER  CYCLE.          .....      83 

NOON  AT  NAPLES,         ...  .84 

NIGHT  IN  VENICE,        .....       85 

ON  LISTED  FIELD,        ....  86 

A  GOLDEN  JUBILEE,     .  ...       87 

THE  COLOSSEUM, 88 

THE  CATACOMBS, 89 

MORNING  AT  MONTMARTRE,         ...       90 
CENTENARY,  ......       91 

A  LEAF  AND  A  LIFE,  ....       92 

VISION,  ....  .       97 

PASSION,          •  ...     104 

IN  COLLEGE  DAYS. 

THE    ROBINS'  SONG,     .  .         .     ill 

SINGING  ON  THE  TERRACE,  .         .         .     112 

THE  CHURCH  UPON  THE  HILL,    .  .114 

OUT  TO  THE  HARBOR    BAR,  .          .         .     116 

NIGHT  PRAYERS  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN,  .     118 

CREED,  .......     120 

GOOD^FRIDAY,        .         .         •         .         •         .122 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


MATER  DOLOROSA, 
(GUIDO   RENI  . ) 

MAGDALEN, 
BESIDE  THE  SEA, 
MAGNOLIA  GARDENS, 
ON  THE  BEACH, 
FATHER  DAMIEN, 
THE  OAKS, 
AN  INNOCENT  VICTIM, 


PAGE 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


'SON,  GIVE  ME   THY  HEART." 


i. 
My  soul  one  day  reached  out  beyond  the  skies; 

The  very  face  of  God  my  spirit  sought, 
But  all  too  splendid  for  my  poor,  dim  eyes, 

Straining  in  vain  through  radiant  realms  of  thought. 

ii. 
His  glory  blazed  upon  my  eyes  upraised, 

Far,  far  beyond  my  yearning  human  heart; 
My  soul  adoring  Him  was  awed  and  dazed, 

My  heart  bowed  down  and  He  seemed  far  apart. 

ill. 

Again  I  took  the  shining  upward  path 
Of  things  created  to  the  Primal  Cause; 

Looked  out  on  Time  and  Space  whereon  He  hath 
Writ  Love,  and  sung  it  set  to  rhythmic  laws. 

IV. 
His  name  was  sounded  by  the  sounding  seas, 

And  spelled  by  sun  and  stars;  ten  thousand  lips 
Hymned  to  Him  ever  sweetest  symphonies, 

And  rose  and  jasmine  felt  his  finger-tips. 

v. 

Again  I  looked  at  man,  at  Thought  at  Art, 
And  He  was  there,  his  likeness  mirrored  clear; 

I  saw  Him  imaged  in  a  tender  heart, 
I  almost  touched  him  in  a  sinner's  tear. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 

VI. 

And  yet  He  seemed  so  very  far  above 

The  clay  whereon  my  heart  so  human  stands; 

And  still  that  heart  was  hungering  for  love, 
And  still  my  soul  reached  out  its  eager  hands. 

VI. 

Ah  me!   it  is  our  self-sufficient  way 

To  take  our  little  beam  of  reason  thus, 

And  make  of  it  a  sun  to  light  our  day, 
And  pierce  all  vistas  that  encompass  us. 

VIII. 

His  gracious  way,  the  loving  Father's  way, 
To  take  us  through  the  pathways  far  and  dim. 

As  little  children  by  His  side  ahvay, 

Our  hand  in  His,  our  trustful  eyes  on  Him. 

IX. 

At  last  Faith  said  to  Reason:  "Peace,  be  still!" 
And  lo!  He  led  me  down  from  stars  and  skies 

And  out  from  wondrous  laws  and  causes  till 
I  knelt  beside  the  Cross  with  streaming  eyes. 

x. 

And  He  was  very  near;  and  as  I  knelt 

So  near  to  Him  and  from  the  world  apart, 

I  felt  the  beating  of  His  heart,  I  felt 

At  last  that  God  and  I  were  heart  to  heart. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


TU  ES  SACERDOS. 


Great  Priest  of  God!  the  Alter  Christus  thou! 

Anointed,  blest; 
Eternal  signet  on  thy  youthful  brow — 

The  kingliest. 

Christ  is  our  King,  to  serve  whom  is  to  reign. 

What  counts  all  loss  ? 
What  ecstacy  should  be  each  passing  pain 

Sharing  His  Cross. 

No  primrose  paths,  no  siren  songs  for  thee; 

Christ's  footsteps  trace 
A  via  dolorosa  where  we  see 

His  woe-worn  face. 

Disciples  in  His  path  of  penitence, 

With  love  athrill, 
Adored  that  face  divine,  of  effluence 

Ineffable. 

That  blessed  the  hearts  of  those  who  followed  Him, 

The  Kindly  Light, 
That  sunlike  shone  on  Tabor  making  dim 

All  earth's  delight. 

What  mattered  martyrdom!  great  guerdon  won 

That  aureoles; 
Stipremest,  sweetest  meed  of  service  done 

By  sainted  souls. 

The  Priest  his  gifts  unto  the  Altar  brings, 

Science  or  art; 
A  clean  oblation  to  the  King  of  Kings, 

A  votive  heart. 


3 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 

As  man,  self-immolated,  thus  he  stands, 

Greatest  yet  least; 
Frail  man  uplifting  sacrificial  hands, 

Puissant  Priest. 

"Follow  thou  Me."     The  battle  fought  and  won 

He  lives  apart, 
Where  falls  the  shadow  of  the  Cross  upon 

His  raptured  heart. 

Without  the  grace  of  God,  but  blind  and  dumb; 

With  need  to  pray 
Lest  he  who  would  save  others  should  become 

A  castaway. 

Compassionate,  Christ-like,  he  maketh  whole, 

Poor,  broken  hearts; 
Pardon,   through  Christ  He  brings  the  sorrowing  soul, 

And  peace  imparts. 

Thus  having  made,  with  power  from  above, 

That  soul  a  shrine, 
He  thrones  therein  the  Sacrament  of  Love 

Its  Guest  divine. 

Death  He  defeats  and  vanquishes  the  tomb, 

Its  gates  unbars, 
And  speeds  the  shriven  soul  out  from  its  gloom 

Beyond  the  stars. 

Behold  the  ancient  fires  of  sacrifice 

Altars  illume, 
And  thence  the  incensed  smoke  the  olden  skies 

Plume  and  perfume. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 

Priesthood  and  holocaust  of  flock  and  field, 

Symbol  and  sign, 
To  Thee  O  Christ,  their  mystic  meaning  yield, 

Victim  divine. 

Thy  Priest,  greater  than  Aaron,  priest  of  old, 

Obeying  Thee, 
Renews  the  sacrifice,  figures  foretold, 

Of  Calvary. 

He  stands  with  dignity  almost  divine, 

The  other  Christ, 
And  divinizes  altared  bread  and  wine — 

God  sacrificed. 

Over  His  body,  real  and  mystical, 

The  sovereign; 
His  God,  to  sacrifice  empowered  to  call 

And  pardon  men. 

To  leave  all  things  and  follow  Him,  forget 

Vision  and  dream, 
The  heart  in  utter  self -surrender,  yet 

Triumph  supreme. 

What  matters  it  what  lot  in  life  he  hath, 

Come  wreath  or  rod, 
Steadfast  his  soul  along  its  star-ward  path 

Goes  up  to  God. 


A  WREATH  OK  ILEX  LEAVES. 


KIAWAH. 


Out  of  the  glimmer  of  starlight, 
On  the  silent  stream  we  glide 

Into  the  sunrise  splendor 

That  purples  the  glassy  tide. 

From  the  golden  gates  of  morning 
Red  hosts  march  up  the  sky, 

And  crimson  the  clouds  where  Beauty 
Holds  court  enthroned  on  high. 

And  into  our  souls  the  splendor 
Of  this  Southern  summer  morn 

Comes  like  a  benediction, 

And  skyward  thoughts  are  born. 

But  hark  to  the  breakers  booming! 

We  anchor,  our  course  is  run; 
Hail  ocean,  and  breeze,  and  sand  dune; 

Hail  halcyon  day  in  the  sun. 

From  our  hearts  the  clouds  unsunny 

Of  care  and  life's  unrest 
Flee  like  the  mists  of  morning 

At  Kiawah,  the  blest. 

The  shadows  slant,  and  homeward 
We  turn  from  the  radiant  day, 

From  Kiawah  the  beautiful, 
A  memory  fair  alway. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 

A  song  floats  down  the  river, 

From  boatmen  dusky  and  strong, 

The  rhythmic  stroke  of  the  oarsmen 
Attuned  to  the  weird  old  song. 

Is  it  some  gracious  vision 
Framed  in  the  setting  sun, 

Of  life  on  the  old  plantation, 
When  the  happy  day  was  done. 

Is  it  some  wandering  echo 

Of  music  forever  fled? 
Is  it  some  dream  whose  magic 

Conjures  a  day  that  is  dead? 

Alas,  for  the  dream  and  the  vision, 
And  the  days  that  are  no  more 

Only  the  ashes  of  roses 

Sings  the  sweet  old  song  of  yore. 

The  spires  of  home  are  looming 
In  the  dusk  of  the  eventide; 

The  sun  has  set,  but  forever 
Shall  its  afterglow  abide. 

Thus  far  from  my  sunny  Southland, 
Ailing,  alone  in  my  room, 

I  drift  away  in  my  dreaming 

Homeward  from  gloom  to  bloom. 

The  snow  is  heaping  its  crystals, 

The  fairest  I  ever  saw; 
But  my  soul  is  steeped  in  the  sunshine 

Afar  at  Kiawah. 

Philadelphia,  Pa.,  March  10th,  1895. 

7 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


THK  MATER  DOLOROSA. 
(GUIDO  RENI.) 


The  Mother's  upraised  face  that  brings 
.  Our  heart  into  our  gaze;  and  where 
The  eyes  so  agonized  are  wings 

To  thought,  and  thought  soars  into  prayer. 

The  shadow  passed  His  face  woe-worn 
That  smites  her  brow;  the  light  upon 

Her  eyes  was  sifted  by  each  thorn 

That  crowned  her  dying  God,  her  Son. 

Guido  achieved  that  perfect  face; 

And  yet  with  something  higher  than  art 
He  set  on  all  its  sad  sweet  grace 

The  signet  of  a  broken  heart. 

The  love  and  worship  of  his  theme 
He  must  have  studied  angel-wise; 

Then  knelt  painting  the  pain  supreme 
That  glorifies  those  lifted  eyes. 


MATKR  DOI.OKOSA, 

(r.ril)O    KKM.  ) 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


MEMORIAL  ODE. 


READ  AT  THE  MEMORIAL  EXERCISES  MAGNOLIA 
CEMETERY,  SUNDAY  MAY  10,  1903. 


We  meet  where  all  things  beauteous  crown 

The  bourgeoning  year; 
We  come  to  guard  the  fair  renown 

Entempled  here. 

Pilgrims,  we  find  a  fane  within 

Each  soldier  sod; 
For  love  of  country  is  akin 

To  love  of  God. 

With  votive  wreaths  which  love  entwines, 

Our  Vestals  come 
For  floral  service  at  these  shrines 

Of  martyrdom. 

In  Sabbath  calm  and  Vesper  lull, 

With  benison, 
They  place  their  garlands  beautiful 

These  graves  upon. 

With  soul  exalted,  crystal  clear, 

As  purest  knight 
Each  righteous  warrior  sleeping  here, 

Sprang  to  the  fight. 

O  glorious  erst  in  battle-wrack 

The  Stars  and  Bars; 
And  grand  these  men  in  bivouac 

Above  the  stars. 


9 


A  WREATH  OP  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Now  Sabbath  peace  and  rest  enfold 

The  flag  they  bore: 
Honor  these  heroes  aureoled 

Forever  more. 

Not  all  of  worth  is  in  the  mart, 

Or  graceless  gain; 
White  virtues,  flowers  of  the  heart, 

Blossom  from  pain. 

The  hallowed  cause,  come  gain  or  loss, 

The  soul  adorns; 
The  Saviour  died,  His  throne  a  Cross, 

His  crown  of  thorns. 

Sons  of  the  South,  year  after  year, 

These  graves  shall  bless, 
And  grace  their  souls  with  lessons  here 

In  nobleness. 

Magnolias  benediction  wave, 

In  war's  surcease; 
And  these  old  oaks,  above  each  grave, 

Breathe  peace,  sweet  peace. 

We  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  lives  like  these, 

Our  bravest,  best. 
Over  the  river,  under  the  trees, 

God  give  them  rest. 


10 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


THE  SACRED  HEART. 


My  wayward  thoughts  from  Earth  to-day  are  soaring 

As  from  the  world  I  kneel  apart, 
And  bowing  low  dear  Jesus  am  imploring 

That  thou  wilt  grace  impart 
To  me  a  sinner  lovingly  adoring 
Thy  Sacred  Heart. 

While  here,  to  Thee  in  sweet  surrender  kneeling, 

Roses  of  pleasure  ashen  fall; 
Here  seared  and  stricken  hearts  find  tender  healing; 

Stilled  is  the  siren's  call, 
While  every  raptured  feeling  is  revealing 
My  God,  my  all. 

Oh  chasten  me,  dear  Lord,  that  I  the  clearer 

May  see  its  rich  redeeming  tide, 
And  leaving  all  and  daily  drawing  nearer, 

May  in  that  Heart  abide, 
Fast  cleaving  to  my  loving  Jesus  dearer 
Than  all  beside. 

What  matter  then  how  fierce  the  gale  that  tosses 

My  life-bark  on  its  stormy  sea; 
Within  Thy  Sacred  Heart  what  count  the  losses 

The  years  may  bring  to  me; 

How  light,  how  sweet  will  be  my  precious  crosses 
When  borne  for  Thee. 

11 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Oh  God  why  is  it  that  men's  hearts  are  going 

Darkling,  defiant  far  astray, 
Thy  chosen  children  too,  ungrateful  growing, 

Wander,  alas,  away, 

While  Thy  Heart's  crimson  tide  is  fondly  flowing 
For  them  alway. 

Oh  pity  souls  should  scorn  its  blessed  bleeding 

The  Cross  forsaken  for  the  mart; 
The  leading  of  the  Kindly  Light  unheeding 

Groping  in  gloom  apart, 

Deaf  to  Love's  ceaseless  call  and  patient  pleading 
"Give  Me  thy  heart." 

Oh  make  us  ponder  often  on  its  aching— 

The  sweetest  Heart  that  ever  bled, 
The  saddest,  agonizing  unto  breaking, 

Its  last  drop  for  us  shed; 

Then  with  responsive  hearts  from  sin  awaking 
Near  Thee  we'll  tread. 

And  happy  in  Thy  blessed  footsteps  wending 

Our  way  in  sweet  security, 
Thy  light  meanwhile  with  cloud  and  shadow  blending 

Our  path  will  radiant  be, 
As  loving,  trusting  we  shall  go  ascending 
Dear  Heart  to  Thee. 

O  let  that  kindly  light  forsake  us  never 

In  days  that  darkle  we  implore, 
And  let  Thy  love  till  death  enfold  us  ever 

Sweet  Heart  that  we  adore, 

Then  naught  from  Thee  our  blissful  souls  shall  sever 
Forevermore . 


12 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


A  GOLDEN  WEDDING. 

Golden  their  Fifty  Years  ! 
Golden  their  smiles  and  tears  ; 
Golden,  for  God  appears, 

Gilding  their  days. 
Golden  they  keep  their  bond  ; 
Golden  their  love  so  fond, 
Golden  here  and  beyond, 

Golden  always. 

Golden  each  kindly  face  ; 
Golden,  aglow  with  grace  ; 
Golden  their  home  blest  place, 

Shrining  their  love. 
Golden  their  gracious  ways  ; 
Golden  the  hearts  they  raise, 
Golden  with  prayer  and  praise 

To  God  above. 

Golden  the  soul  of  each, 
Golden  in  thought  and  speech  ; 
Golden  their  lives  that  teach 

Love  unto  us. 

Golden  their  deeds,  each  one, 
Golden,  alloy  in  none  ; 
Golden  their  crown  when  won 

And  glorious. 

Golden  half-century  ! 
Golden  the  memory  ; 
Golden  their  gloaming  be 

Till  day  departs. 
Golden  the  friendships  sown, 
Golden  the  reverence  grown, 
Golden_the  throne  they  own, 

Deep  in  our  hearts. 

13 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


AFTERNOON  IN  SAINT  PETER'S. 
ROME,  JULY  29,  1905. 


God's  mightiest  Temple  thou!  the  sunlight  streams 
In  sapphire  splendor  through  thy  Dove  and    Dome 

Within  thy  portals  come  centurial  dreams  ; 
I  hear  the  beating  of  thy  heart  O  Rome. 

Thou  art  the  heart  of  Rome — heart  of  the  world, 
Once  under  warring  Caesar's  strong  control; 

But  now  his  legions  dust,  his  banners  furled, 
The  Rome  of  Christ,  the  City  of  the  Soul. 

Greater  than  Caesar,  Peter  sleeps  beneath 
This  marble  floor,  his  Empire  vaster  far ; 

Ever  the  halo  shines  while  fades  the  wreath, — 
Peter  is  throned  where  crowned  Apostles  are. 

Pale  wraiths  of  Empires  pass  in  spectral  line, 
And  phantom  forms  of  kings  almost  forgot ; 

Thy  marbled  Charlemagne  and  Constantine 
Revisit  from  thy  Portico  this  spot. 

Here  Peter,  Prince  of  Christ's  Apostles  died, 
Nero's  Arena  from  whose  sanguined  sod, 

By  martyr  and  Apostle  glorified, 

Rises  earth's  grandest  temple  to  our  God. 

Here  Attila  and  Alaric  who  spared 

Naught  else,  and  Genseric,  fierce  Goth  and  Hun, 
Halted  before  Saint  Peter's  shrine  and  shared 

The  Christian's  awe,  their  vandal  deeds  undone. 

14 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Here  Emperors  knelt  for  chrism  and  for  crown, 
And  here  in  martyrs'  dust  the  sainted  sleep, 

Pontiff  and  priest  and  prince  of  just  renown, 
And  here  God's  angels  viewless  vigils  keep. 

These  lofty  walls  dissolve,  the  golden  glow 
On  yonder  Baldachin  no  altar  frames  ; 

I  move  not  yet  I  stand  where  long  ago 
Martyrs  in  myriads  met  lions  and  flames. 

The  sunbeams  slant,  the  dreamful  shadows  fall 

Bramante,  Raphael  and  Angelo 
Touch  to  their  stately  splendor  dome  and  wall 

Until  with  Art  God's  temple  is  aglow. 

Soul-satisfied  I  turn  my  tranced  eyes 

And  pass  the  Portico,  deathless  my  dreams  ; 

Yon  Dome  looms  in  the  fair  Italian  skies, 
And  there  the  Cross  in  sunset  glory  gleams. 


15 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


BENEATH  THE  PINES. 


Through  slowly  changing  ways  September  strays, 

Sweet-eyed  but  with  a  sigh 
For  dying  joyance  of  the  Summer  days, 

Glad  Summer  days  going  by. 

Sad-eyed  she  moves  among  the  dreaming  pines 

That  only  wake  to  sigh 
O'er  carols  hushed,  o'er  flowerless  jasmine  vines 

And  golden  days  gone  by. 

With  grave  sweet  grace  she  greets  upon  her  ways 

To-day,  poor  hearts  that  sigh; 
Sigh  as  they  move  through  weary,   shadowed  days, 

For  sunnier  days  gone  by. 

No,  in  her  pensive  train  Joy  follows  not, 

Nor  songs  without  a  sigh, 
But  Peace  and  Rest,  old  faces  unforgot, 

And  souls  of  days  gone  by. 

The  pines  may  whisper  peace,  calm  skies  speak  rest, 

But  yet  the  heart  will  sigh 
For  puseless  hearts,  hopes  shrouded,  loved  the  best, 

And  deathless  days  gone  by. 

Ah  me!  some  songless  hearts  will  echo  here 

Sad-voiced  September's  sigh, 
Until  these  pines,  in  some  young  year  or  sere, 

Shall  sigh  their  last  good  bye. 

Summerville,  S.  C. 


16 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


SUNSET  AT  SEA. 


Pilgrims,  we  wander  far  from  home 
Where  blue  Atlantic  billows  roll, 

Our  hearts  and  faces  turned  to  Rome, 
To  Rome,  the  City  of  the  Soul. 

How  radiantly  beautiful 

The  Heavens  bend  above  the  deep, 
And  golden  glows  the  liquid  lull 

Of  Ocean  with  its  waves  asleep. 

Essence  of  opal,  amethyst 

And  sapphire  seem  the  gleaming  skies  ; 
Has  not  that  iridescent  mist 

Drifted  afar  from  Paradise  ? 

With  Pilgrim  eyes  we  see  the  skies 
And  summer  seas  with  beauty  blest, 

While  yonder  sunset  glorifies 

The  gloaming  in  the  curtained  West, 

With  crimson  curtains  that  appear 

To  drop  from  Heaven  to  Ocean's  verge  ; 

This  hour  supreme  God  is  so  near 
Earth  into  Heaven  seems  to  merge. 

He  hangs  those  carmine  curtains  there 
Pendent  from  sunset's  golden  bars, 

Who  carpets  Earth  with  flowers  fair, 
And  canopies  the  night  with  stars. 


17 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


The  God  of  Beauty  who  imparts 
Splendor  beyond  that  of  the  sun — 

Unsetting  splendor — to  the  hearts 

That  love  Him  and  His  grace  has  won. 

Oh  Beauty  ancient  ever  new  ! 

Long  lucent  lances  pierce  the  sky, 
Or  are  they  flashes  in  the  blue 

From  wings  of  angels  passing  by  ? 

From  out  this  Vesper  lull,  to  men, 
Peace  angel-wise  comes  o'er  the  sea, 

And  calms  the  troubled  heart  as  when 
Christ  stilled  the  storm  in  Galilee. 

God  grant  this  hour  may  symbolize 
Life's  Pilgrimage  at  set  of  sun  — 

The  Vision  that  shall  greet  our  eyes 
Of  glory  when  our  day  is  done. 

In  Mid-Atlantic,  July   18,  1905. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


DEVOIR. 


The  glow  of  youth  was  on  his  brow, 
Within  his  soul  the  grace  of  God, 

One  year  ago  ;  above  him  now 
The  fallen  leaves,  the  wintry  sod. 

Cold  is  the  patient  heart  that  bore 
The  body's  lingering  pain  of  years  ; 

His  brave  bright  eyes  greet  us  no  more 
To  smile  away  love's  starting  tears. 

Toil  was  his  tourney  ;  debonair, 

His  pen  his  lance,  he  bore  his  part  ; 

His  mother  was  his  Ladye  Fa,ir, 

His  devoir  done  with  knightly  heart. 

Home  was  his  Court,  his  Table  Round 
The  dear  ones  at  the  hearth  he  met ; 

His  guerdon,  love,  with  these  he  found 
And  these,  ah  no,  cannot  forget. 

His  presence  was  so  large  a  part 
Of  home  it  seems  to  linger  yet ; 

Alas  for  them  the  aching  heart, 
The  longing  and  the  lashes  wet. 

He  shrined  God  in  his  sinless  soul, 
And  Faith  to  mourners  whispereth 

That  Christ,  All-Healer,  maketh  whole 
His  own  though  bruised,  aye,  unto  death. 


19 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


HER  VIOLIN. 


The  sunbeams  fell  aslant  the  hill 

And  touched  to  gold  the  cottage  eaves  ; 

The  skies  were  blue,  the  winds  were  still 
And  troubled  not  the  russet  leaves. 

In  healing  halls  I  dwelt  apart 

A  little  while,  a  spell  within 
My  erstwhile  tired  and  tuneless  heart 

That  heard  a  wondrous  violin. 

And  saw  a  guileless  girl's  face, 
The  glow  of  innocence  therein, 

Bending  with  unaffected  grace 
Above  her  magic  violin. 

Her  soul  it  was  that  touched  the  strings 
That  night  and  sweetest  music  made  ; 

To:night  a  prayerful  memory  brings 
Again  her  "Angels'  Serenade." 

Her  Adagio  told  in  minor  key 
Of  pain  of  longing  and  of  loss  ; 

I  chose  to  hear  it  plaintively 

Moaning  of  woe  upon  the  Cross. 

That  music  floats  across  the  years 

And  silences  the  city's  din  ; 
And  to  a  soul  attuned  appears 

The  vision  of  a  violin. 


20 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  HOE. 


(ANSWER  TO  EDWIN  MARKHAM.) 


Knotted  and  gnarled  the  rugged  figure  stands, 
Vassal  to  the  despotic  needs  of  life, 
His  field  his  world  and  his  hoe  his  wealth  ; 
And  yet  not  brother  to  the  ox,  for,  hark  ! 
Along  the  sunset  skies  the  Angelus 
Hallows  the  twilight  and  he  bows  in  prayer. 
No,  Millet  did  not  mar  him  thus,  this  man 
Who  thrills  to  valiant  tales  of  L,a  Vendee  ; 
Whom  Jeanne  D' Arc's  name  awakes  to  ecstasy ; 
And  did  another  saintly  L,ouis  lead, 
Would  die,  Crusader,  on  far  Syrian  sands. 

Never  the  muses  through  his  weary  days 

Dowered  his  toil  or  thinking  with  a  dream. 

Never  the  star-eyed  goddess  Science  read 

The  poem  of  fossil,  story  of  a  star, 

Or  glimpsed  the  microcosm  of  the  cell ; 

And  yet  not  brother  to  the  ox,  for  far 

Beyond  Parnassus  and  the  Pleiades 

His  soul  soars  into  the  infinitude, 

And  worshipful,  bows  down  above  the  stars, 

High  in  the  temple  of  the  Triune  God. 

No,  no,  not  brother  to  the  ox,  this  man, 
The  toiler,  brother  to  the  Fishermen 
Of  Galilee  ;  brother  of  martyrs,  yea, 
Of  Jesus,  Carpenter  of  Nazareth. 
Not  brother  to  the  ox. 

21 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


The  sovereign  soul 

Though  throned  in  this  uncouth  and  toihvorn  man 
Still  owns  the  image  of  its  God  and  still 
Unconquerable  and  immortal  reigns 
Serene,  secure  against  the  warring  world, 
As  when  the  martyrs  faced  fierce  lions  and  flames, 
And  mighty  Rome  could  not  coerce  a  soul  ; 
Or  now  in  the  arena  of  the  heart, 
Steadfast  against  the  raging  flames  and  beasts 
That  unmake  man,  this  toiling  peasant  can 
Conquer  where  fell  Caesar,   Napoleon, 
And  stand  a  man,  with  kingly  signet  on 
The  image  and  the  likeness  of  his  God. 

And  though  no  gilded  gallery  is  his, 

No  joy  of  Roman  or  Athenian  thought, 

No  heritage  of  Grove  or  Portico, 

No  glance  at  aeons  or  the  empyrean, 

Yet  for  this  burdened  toiler  Christ  was  born  ; 

For  him  the  message  and  the  angel's  song, 

"Glory  to  God  on  high  and  peace  to  men  !" 

For  him  the  scourge,  the  thorns,  the  nails,  the  lance 

Wrought  utterness  of  woe  on  Calvary  ; 

For  him  Rabboni  and  the  Easter  morn, 

The  promise  and  the  proof  of  deathless  days — 

"I  am  the  Resurrection  and  the  Life." 

O,  masters,  lords  and  rulers  in  all  lands, 

Your  brother  in  the  brotherhood  of  man 

Is  folded  in  the  fatherhood  of  God. 


22 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


HER  MITE. 


Scarce  audible  the  timid  lisp 

Of  childhood's  speech  as  at  the  door 
She  said:  "Dear  Mother  may  I  give 

Something  to  Father  for  the  poor?" 

Her  ringers  searched  her  little  purse 
And  cent  by  cent  she  smiled  to  part 

With  all,  to  be  a  blessed  ray 

Of  sunshine  to  some  shadowed  heart. 

A  tender  thought,  a  gracious  gift 
And  words  like  buds  on  little  lips; 

A  deed  to  sweeten  older  hearts 
And  dim  our  eyes  in  wet  eclipse. 

A  little  thought,  a  little  act, 
A  little  child  with  wistful  eyes, 

But  promises  of  Christ,  we  know, 
Such  deeds  of  love  eternalize. 


23 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


HAMPTON. 


Days  of  a  grace  most  tender 

In  all  the  Creator's  plan; 
Life  of  serenest  splendor 

And  men,  like  Lee,  Arthurian. 

Echoes  of  olden  voices, 

Phantom  delights  long  dead; 

Ashes  of  golden  roses, 
Shadows  of  splendor  fled. 

Vision  of  Hampton,  princely, 

In  old  plantation  days, 
Serving  his  State  and  blameless — 

Conscience  his  King  always. 

Alas,  for  the  days  so  hallowed, 
And  their  grace  forever  fled; 

Alas,  for  the  furled  banner, 
Alas,  for  our  gallant  dead. 

Starlike,  the  light  of  a  nation, 

Sublime  in  sad  eclipse, 
Forever  an  inspiration 

On  unforgetting  lips. 

Afterglow  of  the  glory 

Of  the  Grey  and  the  Stars  and  Bars, 
Deathless  the  deeds  of  heroes 

Tented  beyond  the  stars. 


24 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Vision  of  Hampton  charging, 

The  Stars  and  Bars  above 
His  legion,  their  knightly  leader 

Panoplied  in  their  love. 

Spectre  of  fortunes  broken 

Of  vandals  in  forum  and  mart, 

Of  a  State  profaned  and  prostrate 
With  harpies  at  her  heart. 

• 

Vision  of  Hampton,  Chieftain, 

Saving  his  stricken  State, 
Kingly  in  Council  and  Senate, 

Greatest  of  our  great. 

Oh,  the  gloom  and  the  glory  looming 
Of  hallowed,  heroic  years; 

Oh,  vision  of  Hampton  misted 
In  Carolina's  tears. 


26 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


MAGDALEN. 


Her  wondrous  beauty  who  might  paint 

That  far  day  when 
Weeping  she  knelt,  the  sinner-saint, 

The  Magdalen. 

Simon,  self-righteous,  grieves  to  see 

Her  tainted  touch; 
But  Christ  rebukes  the  Pharisee: 

"She  hath  loved  much." 

"Many  her  sins  forgiven,"  he  hears, 

"Is  it  not  meet 
To  pardon  her?  See,  with  her  tears 

She  bathes  my  feet." 

Her  penitence  wins  pardon  there. 

So  full,  so  sweet, 
The  golden  glory  of  her  hair 

Makes  dry  His  feet. 

An  after  day  with  love  replete 

And  anguished  loss, 
Great  saint  she  kissed  those  bleeding  feet 

Nailed  to  the  Cross. 

Her  love  illumes  that  awful  gloom; 

Alone,  forlorn 
Dawn  finds  her  hastening  to  the  tomb 

That  Easter  morn. 

With  her  anointing  spice  she  will 

SwTeeten  His  death; 
Nairn  and  Bethany  she  still 

Remembereth. 

26 


MAODAI.KN. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Some  solace  for  her  woe  she  feels 

To  tend  Him  dead; 
But  at  the  empty  tomb  she  kneels 

Uncomforted. 

"Why  weepest  thou?     Whom  seekest  thou?" 

O  voice  divine! 
"Rabboni!"  O  what  rapture  now 

Mary  is  thine. 

The  wounds  of  sin  that  sorrow  heals 

Are  radiant  scars 
That  life,  however  dark,  reveals 

As  shining  stars. 

The  barren  heart  that  evil  sears 

And  sows  with  weeds, 
When  ploughed  by  penance,  wet  with  tears, 

Owns  priceless  seeds, 

That  bloom  and  bourgeon  beautified, 

With  grace  aglow, 
Touched  by  the  blood  of  Him  who  died 

To  heal  our  woe. 

O  broken  vase!  O  broken  heart 

Of  Magdalen. 
Like  love  and  grief  Oh  Christ  impart 

To  sinning  men. 

From  Hope  entombed  the  dark  stone  rolls 

Moved  by  Thy  word ; 
Oh  roll  away  the  stone  from  souls 

Sin-sepulchred. 


27 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


AVE  VERUM. 


Music  I  place  among  sacred  things 

Since  that  morn  it  greeted  the  Saviour's  birth, 
Choiring  the  praise  of  the  King  of  Kings 

And  bringing  his  message  of  peace  to  earth. 

One  Christmas  morning  the  altar  aglow 

In  the  Chapel,  throned  the  Presence  Divine 

Of  the  first  glad  Christmas  long  ago, 
Under  the  stars  in  Palestine. 

Some  strain  of  that  far  off  morning  born 

Must  have  wandered  on  to  the  Chapel  there, 

And  merged  itself  that  Christmas  morn 

In  the  Ave  Verum  that  winged  our  prayer, 

And  guided  our  souls  to  the  summit  of  tears— 
And  a  tear,  I  hold,  is  the  fairest  gem 

In  the  crown  of  love — and  over  the  years 
Love  led  us  back  to  Bethlehem. 

Back  to  that  morn  of  Infinite  Love 

Our  hearts  flew  over  the  centuries  dead, 

And  peace  on  earth  and  glory  above, 

Through  the  hush  of  our  hearts  was  heralded. 

Yes,  that  Ave  Verum  attuned  the  jars 
Of  toil  and  pain  in  our  lives  that  day, 

To  the  song  that  sounded  under  the  stars 

Where  the  Prince  of  Peace  in  the  manger  lay. 

28 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Some  days  that  wane  not,  each  memory  owns; 

To  me  one  memorial  morning  brings 
An  Ave  Verum's  beautiful  tones 

That  came  like  the  rustling  of  angels'  wings. 

In  music,  I  hold,  man  sometimes  hears 

Something  more  potent  than  nature  and  art, 

For  a  voice  that  pearls  our  prayer  with  tears 
Is  the  voice  of  a  bowed,  a  beautiful  heart. 


29 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


BESIDE  THE  SEA. 


'Twas  God's  own  day  beside  the  sunlit  sea; 

Two  sauntered  saint-like  on  the  shining  shore; 
One  music-loving  sought  the  psalmody 

Of  breakers  on  the  beach,  and  we  were  four. 

The  pathos  of  the  Passiontide  was  there 
Albeit  the  sunshine,  and  in  pensive  mood 

Our  casual  words  held  undertones  of  prayer 
And  souls  soared  into  the  infinitude. 

The  lustrous  sea  and  sky,  the  lucent  tints 
Of  shells  were  pages  in  a  sacred  tome; 

One  worshipful  beheld  the  finger  prints 
Of  God  upon  the  opalescent  foam. 

From  sunlit  sand  dunes  near  each  priestly  palm 
Waved  benediction.     Odors  of  the  sea 

Seemed  incense;  wave  and  heart  were  blest  with  calm 
As  when  Christ  stilled  the  storm  on  Galilee. 

Yes,  for  a  little  while  life's  stress  and  care 
Drifted  far  out  beyond  the  ocean's  rim 

Ard  God  that  day  was  very  near  us  there 

While  sea  and  sky  hymned  to  our  souls  of  Him. 

And  God's  own  days  may  gleam  in  stormy  years 
And  grace  like  sunshine  blessed  peace  impart, 

For  He  can  sweeten  bitter  brine  of  tears 
And  quell  the  whelming  tempest  of  the  heart. 

Isle  of  Palms. 

30 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


THE  SHADOWED  HEART. 


Lily  of  innocence  abloom 

With  grace  of  God  in  girlhood  years; 
Soul-flowers  of  God  like  thee  illume 

The  shadows  in  this  vale  of  tears. 

Fresh  as  the  dewy  grasses  green, 
Fair  as  the  flowers  in  Eden  grown, 

Of  Maytime  blooms  incarnate  queen, 
Girl  bud  with  beauty  barely  blown. 

And  so  your  kindness  deigned  to  cull 
The  firstlings  that  the  fields  impart, 

Bringing  the  offering  beautiful, 

Thou  sunbeam  of  this  shadowed  heart. 

Heart  in  the  shadow  of  the  Cross 

Which  Calvary's  Passion  flowers  entwine, 

Perfuming  human  pain  and  loss — 
Sweet  shadow  shrining  Love  divine. 


31 


A  WRKATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


ADVENT. 


An  Altar  flowerless,  where  lights  are  few; 

The  Gloria  mute,  the  Vestment  violet —  • 
Symbol  of  sorrow7,  sombre  robes  of  rue! 

Why  Advent,  should  thy  wistful  eyes  be  wet? 

Plaintive  this  prelude    to  the  Angels'  hymn, 
Tearful  its  theme  in  touching  minor  chord; 

And  foregleams  of  that  natal  morn  are  dim, 

What  time  the  kindly  kine  looked  on  the  Lord. 

Advent,  thy  voice  holds  echoes  of  the  sighs 
Of  prophet,  patriarch  and  saint  of  old, 

With  yearning  eyes  on  unresponsive  skies 
Expecting  the  Messiah  oft  foretold. 

And  in  thy  face,  oh  Advent,  deeper  gloom, 
And  sad  and  strong  yet  tender  tones  are  thine, 

Pleading  with  hearts  wrherein  there  is  no  room, 
No  greeting  for  the  coming  Guest  divine. 

A  Voice  austere,  another  John,  thou  art, 

Heralding  Christ  to  Sinners,  born  for  them:  — 

"Awake,  arise,  thou  hard  unheeding  heart, 
The  path  of  penance  leads  to  Bethlehem." 

Along  that  path  I  fain  would  go  akin 

To  Shepherds,  with  no  royal  gift  to  bring. 

Christ  make  my  heart,  inhospitable  inn, 
A  shelter  poor  but  welcome  for  my  King. 


32 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


THE  REQUIEM  OF  THE  RAIN. 


(CAPTAIN  F.  W.  DAWSON.) 


In  a  ceaseless,  sad  refrain, 
The  wailing  winds  unite 

With  the  sobbing,  pitying  rain, 
Over  his  grave  to-night. 

Dark  are  the  tearful  skies, 
Over  the  wind  and  rain! 

Dark  our  hearts,  for  the  eyes 
Never  to  smile  again. 

Spirits  of  comrades  slain, 

Phantoms  of  years  that  are  fled, 
Sob  in  the  wind  and  the  rain 

Over  the  soldier  dead. 

Throbbing  with  prayer  and  pain, 
Our  hearts  are  at  his  grave; 

Sadder  than  wind  and  rain, 
Mourning  the  true  and  brave. 

His  name  our  love  invokes, 

In  vain,  alas,  in  vain; 
Under  the  weeping  oaks, 

Under  the  moaning  rain. 

33 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Strong  as  the  wind  in  storm, 
Sweet  as  the  rain  in  spring, 

The  heart  in  the  kingly  form — 
Heart  of  a  knight,  a  king. 

Some  summer  sun  may  spread 
His  grave  the  grasses  o'er! 

But  oh,  the  dead,  the  dead, 
Will  come  again  no  more. 

Cease,  rain,  your  sobbing  cease, 
His  new-made  grave  above; 

Christ,  give  him  rest  and  peace- 
The  Christian  man  we  love. 


March  13,  1889. 


34 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


AT  KILLARNEY. 


(ON  THE  LAKES,  AUGUST  30,  1905.) 


"Killarney—  '  far  the  bugle  sends 
The  notes  that  lingering  echoes  wake; 

Heard  beauty  with  seen  beauty  blends — 
The  song  is  wedded  to  the  lake. 

Erin,  those  plaintive  echoes  grieve 
For  glories  that  have  ceased  to  be; 

Fair  Queen,  the  purpling  shadows  weave 
A  shroud  for  thy  dead  royalty. 

Thy  Brehon  laws  pure  justice  dealt 

To  clan  and  chief,  and  courts  were  thine, 

When  Romulus  and  Remus  dwelt 
In  huts  upon  the  Palatine. 

Of  mighty  kings  and  valiant  men, 
Of  bard  and  sage,  this  was  the  home 

When  Goth  and  Hun  and  Saracen 
Laid  low  thy  pride,  imperial  Rome. 

The  Shepherd  boy  on  Slemish  hill 
Calls  to  his  flocks  as  evening  falls; 

Later  his  saintly  accents  thrill 

Bowed  King  and  court  in  Tara's  halls. 

From  heights  that  wall  this  waveless  calm, 
Come  phantom  echoes  sweet  and  low, 

Of  cloisters  choiring  hymn  and  psalm 
More  than  a  thousand  years  ago. 

35 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


All  Europe  homage  rendered  thee 

Through  centuries  of  Learning's  reign, 

When  Gaels  taught  in  Italy 

And  graced  the  schools  of  Charlemagne. 

Enamored  of  thy  loveliness 

Kings,  Vikings  would  make  thee  their  own, 
And  warred  until  thou  didst  possess 

The  Cross  alone  and  not  a  throne. 

Greatness  begotten  of  the  soul 

Yields  not  to  might  or  pain  or  loss; 

Hail  Erin!  victrix  in  thy  dole, 
Truest  of  nations  to  the  Cross. 

Heroic  race!     Thy  heritage 

Valor  and  virtue,  through  the  years 

Writ  in  thy  Iliad,  page  on  page, 
How  oft  in  blood,  how  oft  in  tears 

The  crown  was  wrested  from  thy  brow 
And  Sorrow  draped  thee  fold  on  fold; 

Mother  of  saints  and  martyrs  thou, 
Uncrowned  of  men,  but  atireoled. 

Cease,  bugle,  cease  thy  tender  song; 

Cease,  echoes,  in  the  darkening  glen, 
Or  tears  will  flow  from  eyes  that  long 

To  see  thee  Erin  Queen  again. 


36 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


A  GOLDEN  JUBILEE. 


MOTHER  TERESA,  CHARLESTON  CONVENT. 


Low  in  the  twilight  time  of  Christmas  tide, 
Before  God's  altar,  flowered  and  aglow, 

A  white-robed  maiden  bowed,  a  bride, 
God's  bride  a  half  a  hundred  years  ago. 

The  world  had  smiled  upon  her,  young  and  fair, 
Had  sung  its  siren  song;  its  gain  or  loss 

She  counted  not,  but  left  the  luring  glare, 
And  knelt  within  the  shadow  of  the  Cross. 

What  counts  all  gain  or  loss,  to  have  a  part 
With  Christ  in  pain  and  loss;  with  him  in  love 

Of  stricken  hearts?     Her  seeming  shadowed  heart 
Glowed,  kneeling  there,  with  radiance  from  above. 

A  half  a  hundred  years  ago!     We  name 

To-day  her  Golden  Wedding  —  fitting  phrase! 

Through  sorrow's  ways,  in  lives  of  pain  and  shame 
She  wedded  golden  deeds  to  prayerful  days. 

She  touched  the  aching  brow  to  lesser  ache; 

On  lives  that  bore  a  cross  she  placed  a  crown; 
Hearts  that  were  breaking  through  her  did  not  break, 

And  near  her  Death  lost  something  of  his  frown. 


37 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 

Flower-like  above  those  buried  years  we  see, 
Fairer  for  darkest  shadows  and  for  tears, 

Missions  of  mercy,  deeds  of  charity, 

Unfading  flowers  to  bloom  through  deathless  years. 

Time,  let  thy  touch  be  as  a  mother's  touch, 
On  her  through  all  her  happy  days  to  be — 

To  aching  brow  and  heart  her  touch  was  such, 
God  bless  her,  bless  her  through  eternity. 

January  6th,  1881. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


MARSE  CHAN. 


Here,  writ  on  each  pathetic  page, 

The  radiant  story 
Of  Chivalry — our  golden  age 

And  olden  glory. 

The  tender  tale  a  laurel  wreath, 

Whereon  te  pillow 
Our  love  for  those  who  sleep  beneath 

Cypress  and  willow. 

A  requiem  sounds  across  sad  years, 

A  sacred  psalter, 
And  fall  the  South's  entempled  tears, 

Our  hearts  the  altar. 

And  there  the  priesthood  of  the  pen 

Their  service  render, 
Until  dead  days  come  back  again — 

The  Old  South's  splendor. 


39 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


THE  CATHEDRAL. 


Grand  Palace  of  our  Sovereign  King; 

Altar  of  God,  Temple  of  Him 
Whose  praise  the  choiring  angels  sing, 

Before  whom  bow  the  Seraphim. 

Beyond  long  years  a  vision  looms 
Of  holocausts  from  field  and  fold 

And  sacrificial  smoke  that  plumes 
Expectant  skies  in  days  of  old. 

And  tent  and  tabernacle  hold 

Altars  of  symbols  that  sufficed 
For  sacrifices  that  foretold 

The  great  High  Priest  and  Victim,  Christ. 

Lo!  Temple  sublime  of  Solomon! 

Holy  of  Holies,  psalm  and  hymn, 
All,  all  thy  golden  grandeur  gone, 

Altar  and  Arc  and  Cherubim. 

But  glory  here,  for  grandeur  gone, 
For  He  for  whom  the  prophets  sighed 

Is  here,  High  Priest  and  Victim  one, 
Jesus  our  Love,  the  Crucified. 

Chalice  and  paten  are  His  throne; 

Love  veils  in  seeming  bread  and  wine 
The  glory  that  the  Heavens  own — 

Beautiful  Host,  Victim  divine. 


40 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Typed  in  this  temple  Heaven  behold, 
And  Calvary  in  the  altar  near; 

Grand  let  it  be  with  gifts  of  gold, 
Holy  of  Holies,  God  is  here. 

Pontiff  and  King  with  loving  heart, 
Have  wrought  with  royal  offering 

Marbled  Cathedrals  glowing  with  art, 
To  shrine  their  Eucharistic  King. 

Here  shall  the  L,evite  at  His  call 
In  sweet  surrender  prostrate  lie, 

The  Alter  Christus,  leaving  all 
To  follow  Him,  if  need,  to  die. 

In  splendid  ritual  shall  be  viewed 
The  seal  of  power  on  Bishops  set 

In  Apostolic  plenitude, 
Recalling  far-off  Olivet. 

The  font,  the  lustral  waters  here; 

Before  this  Altar  brides  shall  wed, 
And  Hope  shall  speak  to  hearts  that  hear 

The  solemn  requiem  of  their  dead. 

Oh!   Earth  thy  treasures  hither  bring; 

Render  thy  tribute  rarest  Art; 
Genius  come  hither  worshipping; 

Kneel,  Man,  with  an  adoring  heart. 


41 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


MAGNOLIA  GARDENS  ON  THE  ASHLEY. 


Here  Beauty  holds  her  Court,  her  gracious  King 
The  sovereign  sun;  her  suite  the  flowers  abla/e 
With  radiant  raiment  woven  by  Southern  rays, 
The  placid  woodland  waters  mirroring 
The  flowery  splendors  of  the  bourgeoning  Spring. 
Here  petalled  portieres  deck  the  walls  of  bloom; 
Azaleas  aflame  the  halls  illume; 
Magnolias  column  stately  avenues, 
Gleaming  arcades,  marbled  with  lucent  hues. 

The  sunlit  air  is  vibrant  with  perfume 
Sweeter  than  music  and  each  bud  unblown 
Incenses  Beauty  on  her  glowing  throne. 

The  roses  breathe  their  homage  all  day  long. 
Spring  is  her  vassal,  life  a  scented  song. 

Fair  Temple  thou!   Memorial  of  the  Past. 

The  aisles  are  pillared  by  the  plaintive  pines, 
And  pendent  mosses  drape  and  ivy  twines 

Old  oaks  that  sentinel  sweet  memories. 

Cold  silence  epitaphs  hushed  revelries; 

On  graves  of  dear  dead  days  bloom  flowers  fair 

And  wraiths  of  dead  delights  are  in  the  air. 

The  eyes  see  Beauty's  Court,  but  hearts  behold 

The  greater  glories  of  the  days  of  old. 

The  scene  is  sombre  where  the  shafts  of  gloom 

Pierce  the  spring  sunshine  from  the  ancient  tomb. 

But  which  is  better,  holier,  light  or  shade? 

The  splendors  that  the  hanging  gardens  made 

O'er  Babylon — but  immemorial  dross, 

Or  Calvary,  crowned  and  shadowed  by  the  Cross? 


42 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


THE  DEAD  KNIGHT. 


(ROBERT  BARNWELL  RHETT,  JR.,  M.  D.) 


To  beat  back  Death,  heal  penury  and  pain, 

His  chosen  part; 
Untarnished  by  corroding  greed  of  gain, 

His  golden  heart. 

Vassal  in  toil,  in  nobleness  a  King; 

Love  his  device, 
His  signet,  service  to  the  suffering 

And  sacrifice. 

Selfless  about  his  hallowed  quest  he  went; 

Intense  his  strife 
With  Death  that  struck  at  others — thus  he  spent 

Himself,  his  life. 

Stainless  his  knightly  soul,  dentless  his  shield; 

Full  panoplied 
In  perfect  courtesy  on  every  field, 

Love  was  his  meed. 

The  people's  prayers,  the  Christian's  crown  are   thine 

Physician,  man, 
Who  poured  in  wounded  hearts  love's  oil    and  wine  — 

Samaritan. 

Farewrell!  Thy  memory  with  immortelle 

Is  garlanded: 
Rest  well,  thou  knightly  foe  of  Death,  where  dwell 

The  deathless  dead. 


43 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


ON  THE  BEACH. 


I  walked  between  the  gleam  and  gloom 

To-day,  on  storied  Moultrie's  strand, 
And  listened  to  the  mellow  boom 

Of  breakers  on  the  silvery  sand . 
A  mystic  spell  my  spirit  wooed, 

Sweeter  than  sweetest  ever  found 
In  songful  sylvan  solitude 

Or  sunset  summit,  crimson-crowned. 

Upon  the  sea  a  vesper  calm 

Lay  brooding  over  liquid  miles, 
Hallowing  like  a  wordless  psalm 

Or  stillness  in  cathedral  aisles. 
Like  fair  nun's  faces,  pure  and  white, 

Wave  crests  were  gleaming  on  the  bar; 
And,  like  a  sanctuary  light, 

There  glimmered  far  the  evening  star. 

O  sea!  O  sea!  a  heart  thou  hast:  — 

Upon  the  shore  I  heard  its  beat, 
From  out  thy  bosom,  deep  and  vast. 

Upon  Life's  shore  are  weary  feet; 
And  weary  hearts  reach  out  beyond; 

While  Faith  uplifted,  Peter  trod 
The  sea  of  old;  and  heart-beats  fond, 

Reach  down  from  out  the  heart  of  God. 


44 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


CHOICE. 


"Serve  me,"  the  world  sings, 
Tempting  with  offerings 

Till  we  grow  faint. 
Fair  is  her  smiling  face, 
Fond  is  her  false  embrace, 
Desert  and  drear  the  place 

Set  for  the  saint. 

Though  thus  the  world  beguile 
Luring  with  song  and  smile, 

Siren  is  she. 

Fairer  the  face  of  Christ 
On  the  Cross  sacrificed, 
Ransom  divinely  priced 

For  you  and  me. 


45 


A  WRKATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


A  SABBATH. 

Just  when  the  pensive  days  began  to  miss 

Glad  Summer  dead; 
Ere  hectic  Autumn  had  begun  to  kiss 

The  leaves  to  red; 

When  wistful  skies  told  more  of  tears  than  mirth- 
Thau  mirth  more  blest, 

And  hints  of  Heaven  hovered  over  earth, 
She  won  her  rest. 

When  dreaming  pines  held  fewer  songs  than  sighs; 

In  sweet  surcease 
Of  toil  that  Sabbath  morn  when  fields  and  skies 

Were  whispering  "Peace," 

We  laid  her  in  God's  Acre  safe  from  strife, 

With  peace  above 
And  peace  around  her,  fittingly,  whose  life 

Was  peace  and  love. 

And  all  the  Village  grieved,  and  flowers  were  laid 

Above  her  there, 
Fair  as  her  deeds,  and  kneeling  sad  hearts  made 

A  wreath  of  prayer. 

That  morning  comes  a  Sabbath  to  the  heart 

Vexed  with  unrest; 
Its  sainted  dead,  its  peace  and  prayer  impart 

A  memory  blest. 


FATHKK  DAMIKX.   MAKTVK   I'RIKST, 

>IKI>  OK   J,K1'KOSY   AT    Mol.OKAI.    Al'KII.    1<>.    1SSV. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


FATHER  DAMIEN'S  PORTRAIT. 


Greeting  !  with  Damien's  portrait  which  you  prize; 

His  form  unscarred, 
Youth  on  his  brow  unlined;  love  in  his  C3'es 

Divinely  starred. 

Intense,  his  priestly  gaze  appears  to  go 

Across  the  years 
To  Cavalry,  and  for  its  utter  woe 

Holds  unshed  tears, 

And  gleams  of  sacrificial  light  that  come, 

And  beautify, 
From  out  his  heart  aflame  for  martyrdom 

At  Molokai. 

Unmarred  his  face  and  fair,  and  not  as  when 

Far  seas  beside, 
Self -exiled,  leprous  for  the  love  of  men, 

He  Christlike  died. 

That  day  God  by  the  choiring  hosts  above 

Was  glorified; 
And  golden  gleamed  the  bond  of  mankind's  love 

When  Damien  died. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


RUS  IN  URBE. 


It  is  only  a  little  idyl, 

Penned  by  a  child  in  her  teens, 
Yet  a  magical  wand  that  conjures 

Life's  fairest,  sunniest  scenes. 

She  wafts  me  far  from  the  City 
From  the  care  and  toil  it  yields, 

And  over  the  years  she  bears  me 
Back  to  my  boyhood's  fields. 

Back  to  the  vernal  splendor 
Of  Southern  forest  and  lane, 

Out  from  the  ruts  in  the  city, 
Out  from  its  burden  and  pain. 

Like  stately  pines  are  the  steeples 
That  loom  in  the  twilight  gloom, 

And  the  dull  and  angular  houses 
Merge  into  banks  of  bloom. 

The  City's  discordant  noises 
Are  changed  to  a  summer  song, 

And  the  lilt  of  the  reapers  mellows 
The  din  of  the  trafficking  throng. 

The  stones  blossom  into  daisies; 

Each  street  is  a  woodland  lane, 
And  I  am  a  boy  and  dreaming 

Among  the  jasmines  again. 

48 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Of  the  bloom  and  the  blessed  sunshine 

And  joyance  I  am  a  part, 
With  a  song  in  my  soul  and  ever 

The  peace  of  the  fields  in  my  heart. 

O  memory  hold  thy  treasures 
Till  the  time  of  the  eventide; 

Let  the  glow  of  the  early  morning 
With  the  gloaming  of  life  abide. 


49 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


BIRTHDAY  LINES. 


God  bless  thee  on  thy  happy  natal  day. 

Smile,  brightest  skies, 
Upon  this  gleaming  milestone  on  her  way 

To  Paradise. 

Some  sacred  sorrows  in  this  life  of  thine, 

And  sacrifice, 
Lend  hallowed  light  to  pensive  eyes  that  shine 

Madonna-wise. 

And  eager  toil  for  love  of  dear  ones  lends 

A  nobleness 
To  thee,  fair  Friend,  whom  kindred  and  thy  friends 

All  love  and  bless. 

And  God  has  set  His  signet  on  thy  days 

Of  peace  and  calm, 
Of  grace  that  gleams  in  all  thy  words  and  ways, 

Thy  life  a  psalm. 

God  keep  thee  thus  always  and  give  to  thee 

A  natal  morn 
Some  day,  some  day  in  far  eternity, 

To  glory  born. 

Some  day  when  all  thy  peaceful  days  shall  close, 

Thy  work  well  done, 
There,  where  the  Beatific  Vision  glows, 

Thy  crown  well  won. 


50 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


A  VOTIVE  LEAF. 


(ON  RECEIVING  CARLYLE  MCKINLEY'S  POEMS.) 


Veiled  is  the  sorcery  of  Sapelo, 

And  shadowed  the  sand  dunes  by  the  sea, 

While  the  mourning  waves  make  moan  below 
And  the  plaintive  pines  their  threnody. 

For  he  sang  of  the  sunshine  at  Sapelo 

As  he  toiled  in  the  tumult  of  street  and  mart; 

And  the  lingering  grace  of  the  afterglow 
Enraptured  with  rest  his  weary  heart. 

And  sadder  the  silence  at  Timrod's  grave, 

For  there,  as  a  pilgrim,  with  heart  bowed  down, 

Came  his  fellow  poet  to  loyally  crave 

Our  love  for  the  dead  and  a  fadeless  crown. 

And  wove  in  the  wish  a  fond  farewell 

Of  his  own  sweet  verses  of  love  and  praise  — 

A  votive  chaplet,  an  immortelle, 

To  grace  that  grave  through  the  songless  days. 

In  "After  Ten  Years"  his  voice  comes  down 
From  beyond  Parnassus  and  over  the  stars, 

And  summons  the  men  of  knightly  renown, 
Who  blazoned  with  glory  the  Stars  and  Bars. 

And  tenderer  the  face  of  the  Crucifer; 

More  piteous  the  pierced  hands  and  feet, 
For  the  lines  of  the  poet  minister 

In  a  mission  with  love  replete — 

61 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


The  love  of  the  Master  in  words  and  deeds, 

That  pardon  and  peace  impart, 
When  the  soul  of  the  sinner  in  sorrow  bleeds, 

And  Love  flowers  forth  in  a  desert  heart. 

In  this  treasured  volume  the  Muses  call 

His  friends  to  his  grave  with  quickened  grief; 

Poet!   Chide  not  the  friend  who  would  let  fall 
On  thy  laureled  mound  this  withering  leaf. 


52 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


EDELWEISS. 


(ON  THE  RIGI,  AUGUST  4,  1905.) 


On  Rigi's  utmost  rim  I  dream, 
The  lace-like  cloudlets  far  below, 

And  see  the  high  horizon  gleam 
With  glacier  and  eternal  snow. 

Above  the  world  of  carking  care, 

Where  strife  or  stress  may  not  intrude, 

The  heart  to-day  attuned  to  prayer 
Sings  in  this  crystal  solitude. 

Of  God  this  Alpine  vastness  speaks, 
God  mirrored  by  the  earth  and  sky; 

In  snowy  vestments  priest-like  peaks 

Point  to  the  great  white  Throne  on  high. 

God  of  the  lilies  of  the  vale 

As  well  as  heights  of  snow  and  ice, 

For  here  He  crowns  with  beauty  pale, 
The  Nun  of  flowers,  this  Edelweiss. 


53 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


WHY  WEEPEST  THOU  ? 


O !  Easter  Altar,  beautiful 

With  lilies  fair 

And  votive  blooms  she  loved  to  cull 
And  offer  there. 

There  at  her  casket  garlanded 

And  flower-drest, 
One  year  ago  we  knelt  and  said, 

God  give  her  rest. 

Her  sainted  soul  with  grace  was  bright, 

And  love  divine. 
Her  hallowed  home  blessed  with  its  light 

Glowed  like  a  shrine. 

She  bid  the  clouds  of  care  depart, 

Erst  happy  while, 
And  summoned  summer  to  the  heart 

With  sunny  smile. 

She  saunters  by  the  summer  sea 

No  more,  no  more, 
But  walks,  through  blissful  years  to  be, 

The  golden  shore. 

But  shadowed  now  the  sunlit  sea 

And  sad  its  tones, 
And  in  the  waves'  weird  minstrelsy 

A  requiem  moans. 


54 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


In  dreams  along  the  moonlit  track 

Of  silver  foam, 
Adown  the  starlight  she  comes  back 

Again  to  home. 

No  more  she  tends  the  seeded  sod 

And  buds  unblown, 
To  make  the  Altar  of  her  God 

A  flowered  throne. 

Along  life's  path  her  gracious  ways 
Bloomed  like  the  flowers — 

Like  violets  they  graced  the  days, 
The  perfumed  hours. 

And  hushed  the  voice  so  gently  wise, 

So  sweet,  so  full 
Of  tenderness,  and  closed  the  eyes 

So  beautiful. 

The  heart  beneath  the  oaks  is  still, 

With  God  above 
It  loves  the  dear  ones  still,  athrill 

With  larger  love. 

Sad  hearts  she  healed  with  gentlest  touch 

Cannot  forget; 
These  pray  for  her  they  loved  so  much, 

With  eyelids  wet. 

The  kindly  hands  are  folded  now 

That,  known  not,  gave. 
And  we  in  love  and  sorrow  bow 

Above  her  grave. 


55 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


We  place  her  precious  flowers  there 

Our  tears  upon, 
And  echo  there  her  dying  prayer, 

"Thy  will  be  done." 

Bruised  hearts  that  break  our  Lord  can  make 

In  Heaven  whole  ; 
Till  then  we  pray  with  hearts  that  ache, 

God  rest  her  soul. 

"Whom  seekest  thou  ?     Why  weepest  thou  ?' 

That  Easter  morn 
The  Saviour  said,  and  says  it  now 

To  hearts  forlorn. 

And  pointing  to  his  pierced  side, 

The  Crucified 
But  risen  Christ  said,  "Peace  abide,  " 

That  eventide. 

He  died  upon  the  bitter  tree 

And  rose  our  King  ; 
"Oh,  grave  where  is  thy  victory, 

Oh,  death  thy  sting?" 

The  glory  of  that  Easter  parts 

The  gates  of  gloom — 
Hope's  pathway  home  for  parted  hearts 

On  through  the  tomb. 

"And  He  shall  wipe  away  all  tears," 

And  glorified, 
Forever  through  eternal  years, 

Love  shall  abide. 


56 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


VIOLETS. 


Though  sunbeams  these  forget, 
Though  dews  no  longer  wet, 
Withered  and  scentless  yet 

Dearer  to  me 
Than  all  the  roses  rare 
Scenting  the  sunny  air, 
Treasured  with  tender  care 

Dead  though  they  be. 

Faded  !  ah  no  they  bloom, 
Ah  yes,  their  sweet  perfume 
Through  days  of  glare  or  gloom 

Cannot  depart; 
Sun-like  a  memory  fair, 
Dew-like  a  daily  prayer, 
Make  the  dead  violets  there 

Bloom  in  my  heart. 


57 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


YACHTING. 


Out  from  the  bay  this  summer  day, 

From  corroding  care  we  race; 
We  sail  away  in  sun  and  spray, 

That  bronze  each  happy  face; 
Potent  as  wine  the  bracing  brine, 

And  as  Vikings  free  are  we; 
Almost  divine  this  joy  of  thine, 

O,  sovereign,  sunlit  sea. 

An  elixir  exhales  from  summer  gales, 

Sailing  serene  blue  billows  between; 
In  memory  pales  the  verdure  of  vales, 

And  the  sheen  of  the  evergreen; 
In  the  sun  and  the  breeze  on  summer  seas, 

The  lordliest  lives  we  live, 
For  days  like  these  are  ecstasies, 

Supremest  earth  can  give. 

To  ocean's  flow  in  the  afterglow, 

Is  attuned  my  pensive  mood— 
An  adagio,  an  echo  low 

Of  the  vast  infinitude; 
Reaching  afar  where  the  beacons  are, 

Past  the  dim  and  distant  shores, 
Beyond  the  bar  and  the  farthest  star, 

My  spirit  soars  and  adores. 

God's  word  can  keep  the  winds  that  sweep, 

At  rest  on  sea  and  land, 
The  mighty  deep,  its  storms  asleep, 

In  the  hollow  of  His  hand. 
His  mercies  still  the  whole  world  fill, 

And  peace,  sweet  peace,  impart, 
For  if  we  will  His  love  can  still 

The  tempest  of  the  heart. 

n* 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


HIS  ROSES. 


Fair  roses  from  the  little  plot 
He  planted  in  his  leisure  hours; 

So  like  his  kindness  unforgot, 

And  fragrant  as  these  beauteous  flowers. 

For  like  these  roses  precious  seeds 
Of  golden  sheaves  he  loved  to  sow 

In  orphaned  hearts,  his  gracious  deeds, 
Plucking  the  weeds  of  want  and  woe. 

Friends  keep  with  tender  care  the  place 
Where  flowers  his  memory  caress; 

Each  bud  seems  like  some  little  face, 
His  kindness  touched  to  sunniness. 

Though  he  is  gone,  his  roses  bloom 
Radiant  from  out  his  seeded  sod; 

So,  too,  his  deeds  beyond  the  tomb 
Bloom  in  the  garden  of  his  God. 

I  place  these  roses,  pure  and  fair, 
Upon  God's  altar,  offering  rare, 

Where  he  is  ofttimes  named,  and  where 
His  charity  perfumes  my  prayer. 


59 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


UNDER  THE  OAKS. 


Between  the  columned  oaks  we  rode: 

Gray  mosses  canopied  the  scene; 
Faintly  the  setting  sunbeams  glowed, 

Sifted  between  the  gray  and  green. 
One  sighed  and  said:   "A  place  to  weep," 

Where  all  day  long  the  shadows  fall, 
And  solitude  and  silence  keep 

Their  sombre  vigils  over  all. 

As  twilight  faded  into  dusk 

The  keen,  tense  thought  of  street  and  mart 
Fell  from  us  like  a  withered  husk, 

And  glowed  the  grace  within  the  heart 
That  finds  in  hushed  cathedral  aisles 

Stillness  and  dimness  dearer  far 
Than  siren  songs  or  luring  smiles, 

And  altar  light  that  dims  a  star. 

The  grace  that  hears  the  sweetest  songs 

In  minor  chord  when  memories  hold 
The  unforgetting  heart  that  longs 

To  greet  again  fond  hearts  of  old; 
That  fairest  holds  of  all  things  found 

Under  the  skies,  however  shaped 
By  man  or  sun,  a  sacred  mound 

Beneath  an  oak  with  mosses  draped, 

The  grace  that  sees  more  radiant  glow 

A  tear  in  love  or  pity  shed 
Than  sunset,  purpling  peaks  of  snow, 

Or  heavens  rainbow  garlanded; 
And  in  our  shadowed  hours  the  grace 

That  sees  above  all  pain  or  loss, 
The  glory  of  His  sad,  sweet  face 

Shrined  in  the  shadow  of  the  Cross. 
60 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


HEALING. 


(To  THE  SISTERS  OF  MERCY 
ST.  FRANCIS  XAVIER  INFIRMARY.) 


Far  by  the  sunlit  sea 
Long  since  in  Galilee, 
Christ  sauntered  silently — 

Prayerfully. 

Fain  would  He  healing  bring 
Unto  all  sorrowing. 
Jesus,  our  gracious  King, 

All-Healer  He. 

Magdalen  weeps  and  kneels, 
Penitent  love  appeals; 
Pardon  with  love  He  seals, 

So  Jesus  heals. 
Ears  where  were  sepulchred 
Sweet  sounds  of  lute  and  bird, 
Hearing  His  healing  word 

To  music  stirred. 

Not  only  souls  that  ache, 
Not  only  hearts  that  break, 
Unto  His  healing  wake 

Out  of  their  gloom; 
But  bodies  bruised  and  spent 
Felt  His  medicament; 
Nay,  by  His  words  were  rent 

Cerement  and  tomb. 


61 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Darkness  that  sentinels 
Prisoned  eyes  He  dispels; 
Lips  where  sad  silence  dwells 

Sing  canticles. 
Feet  that  were  halt  before 
Haste  to  the  Temple  door; 
Hands  reach  up  to  adore 

Palsied  no  more. 

Lo!   in  His  footsteps  press, 
Sharing  His  tenderness, 
Sisters  who  tend  and  bless, 

Even  as  He, 

Those  they  find  suffering; 
Healing  to  these  they  bring, 
Christ-like  ministering 

Jesus  for  Thee. 

On  the  Silver  Jubilee  of  the  Infirmary  1907. 


6-J 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


A  CLASSMATE. 


Fair  memories  of  College  days  unroll, 

Misted  in  tears, 
For  him  who  kept  the  whiteness  of  his  soul 

Through  all  his  years. 

To  starry  heights  where  Science  is  enthroned 

He  eager  trod, 
And  knelt,  for  higher  wisdom  still  he  owned  - 

The  fear  of  God. 

Brave,  blithe  and  debonair  there  was  no  place 

For  other  fear; 
Obedience  became  him  like  a  grace, 

This  Mountaineer. 

Life  was  a  happy  tourney  then,  his  dower 

His  panoply, 
High  honor  and  his  heart  the  perfect  flower 

Of  chivalry. 

Faith  gilded  his  honor;  love  perfumed  his  heart 

That  held  our  own 
Through  all  these  years,  though  far  apart, 

And  graver  grown. 

To  Alma  Mater  loyal  love  he  gave; 

Her  rolls  bequeath 
No  purer  name  than  his  upon  whose  grave 

Love  lays  this  wreath. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


MEMORIAL  DAY 


Honor  the  dead,  these  soldiers  sleeping 

Their  glorious  sleep  ; 
With  love  of  man  and  woman's  weeping, 

Their  memory  keep. 

These  graves  of  heroes,  resting  breathless, 

Are  flowered  fanes, 
Where  Valor  hymns  a  Lost  Cause,  deathless 

While  Honor  reigns. 

Oh,  wouldst  thou  know  the  knightly  manner 

They  fought  and  bled  ? 
Go,  ask  the  blood  upon  that  banner* 

Shot  to  a  shred. 

Let  not  our  love  and  reverence  falter 

Through  years  to  be  ; 
Their  sacrifice  was  on  the  altar 

Of  liberty. 

The  consecration  of  a  nation 

Whose  cause  survives 
In  hearts  that  hold  it  inspiration 

To  nobler  lives. 

Bring  garlands  of  remembrance  hither 

With  tear  drops  wet, 
Better  that  arms  and  hearts  should  wither 

Than  these  forget. 


*The  battle  flag  of  the  Irish  Volunteers. 

64 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Another  sunset  and  they  perish — 

Each  rose  and  wreath  ; 
Not  so  the  deeds  of  those  we  cherish 

Asleep  beneath. 

Our  dead,  however  days  may  darken, 

Shall  sentinel 
The  Southland,  calling  while  we  hearken, 

"All's  well,  all's  well!" 

God's  acre  owns  no  battle  splendor  ; 

In  war's  surcease 
The  shadows  fold  them,  silent,  tender, 

In  peace,  sweet  peace. 

Place  votive  cross  and  crown  above  them, 

And  immortelle, 
To  say  that  through  the  years  we  love  them 

Whom  God  rests  well. 


65 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


MUSIC. 


For  all  things  here  below,  decay  and  death  : 

For  seasons,  suns  and  stars,  all  things  save  one, 

The  sovereign  soul,  image  of  God,  that  breath 
Divine,  which  may  not  know  oblivion. 

Created  in  the  undreamed  harmonies 

Of  Godhead,  it  descended  from  above 
Whence  Music  comes,  heard  best  on  bended  knees. 

With  heart  attuned  unto  its  theme  of  love. 

When  Christ,  the  Prince  of  Peace,  would  break  the  bars 
Of  prisoned  souls,  song  heralded  His  birth  ; 

Exultant  angels  choired  beneath  the  stars, 
"Glory  to  God  on  high  and  peace  to  earth." 

His  love  too  large  for  arbitrary  word, 

And  blessedness  too  deep  for  fathomed  phrase, 

In  mystic  music  make  their  meaning  heard 

The  while  the  raptured  soul  bows  down  and  prays. 

The  empire  of  the  chisel  and  the  brush, 

Outlasting  sceptred  realms,  shall  cease  to  be  ; 

But  high  above  the  dead  creation's  hush 
Music  shall  still  delight  divinity. 

ft 

For  anthem  upon  anthem  shall  ^nroll 

From  choiring  saint  and  seraph  worshipping, 
And  in  this  native  language  of  the  soul 
We,  glorified,  shall  sing  unto  our  King. 


66 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


A  PICTURED  CHILD. 


A  pictured  child  tense  thought  beguiles, 
So  life-like  I  could  fain  believe 

That  from  the  gilded  frame  she  smiles 
And  speaks  to  me,  dear  Genevieve. 

An  added  joy  to  happy  hearts 

And  solace  to  the  hearts  that  grieve, 

This  sweet  and  sinless  soul  imparts — 
Sunbeam  incarnate,  Genevieve. 

Child  Sovereign,  we  own  her  reign; 

Her  words  and  ways,  so  winsome,  weave 
About  our  hearts  a  flower-like  chain 

Linking  our  love  to  Genevieve. 

Tired  eyes  shall  rest  upon  this  face 
Finding  from  toil  and  care  reprieve, 

So  angel-wise  the  guileless  grace 
That  hallows  gentle  Genevieve. 

As  such  Christ  asks  us  to  be  led, 
Such  into  Heaven  He  wrill  receive; 

Of  such,  His  Kingdom,  He  hath  said — 
Children  in  trust  like  Genevieve. 


67 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


STELLA  MARLS. 


Golden  the  dawning  when  thou  dost  arise 
Heralding  joyance  of  mornings  to  be, 

Smiling  a  welcome  to  Youth's  sunny  skies, 
Star  of  the  Morning,  Star  of  the  Sea. 

Glimmering,  tremulous,  when  the  shades  fall 
Gleam  in  the  gloaming,  I  pray  thee  for  me, 

Lighting  the  shadows  and  piercing  the  pall, 
Star  of  the  Evening,  Star  of  the  Sea. 

Ever  in  tempests,  down  through  the  dark 
Shine  as  a  beacon  that  tired  eyes  may  see 

Heaven,  the  haven  to  harbor  my  bark, 
Star  of  the  Midnight,  Star  of  the  Sea. 

Mary,  Sweet  Mother  thou  art  the  Star, 

And  Life  is  the  Ocean  beamed  on  by  Thee, 

We  are  the  voyagers  faring  afar, 
Star  of  the  Pilgrim,  Star  of  the  Sea. 


i 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


LILIES. 


A  dream  of  dreams  that  vesper  hour 
Beneath  the  dreamful  skies  of  May; 

And  round  us  Maytime  bud  and  flower 
And  nuns  to  lead  the  pensive  way. 

The  incense  from  the  Altar  seemed 

To  float  upon  the  purer  air; 
The  organ  hushed,  the  Convent  dreamed 

Its  nun-like  dream  of  peace  and  prayer. 

The  distant  city's  din  and  glare, 

The  world  of  sin  and  stress  and  loss, 

In  deepening  twilight  faded  there 
Before  the  Shadow  of  the  Cross, 

• 
That  fell,  a  grace,  upon  that  hour— 

The  Cross  that  maketh  bruised  hearts  whole 
And  with  a  more  than  sun-like  power 

A  splendor  sheds  upon  the  soul. 

Beyond,  the  still  God's  Acre  loomed, 

Where  lily-like  above  the  sod, 
The  white  stones  told  of  souls  that  bloomed 

As  lilies  loved  and  culled  by  God. 

White  lilies  nurtured  tenderly, 

Uplifted  by  the  Hand  of  Love 
To  bloom  through  all  the  years  to  be, 

Gardened  by  God  above. 

St.  Joseph's  Convent,  Emmitsburg,  Md. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


ANGEL-WISE. 


A  bud  unblown 
Blooms  at  His  throne; 
Their  dove  has  flown 

To  God  above; 
And  angel-wise 
With  wistful  eyes 
Looks  from  the  skies, 

With  larger  love, 

On  dear  ones  here, 
And  year  by  year 
As  they  draw  near 

She  loving  waits 
To  greet  each  face, 
With  radiant  grace, 
When  they  shall  pace 

The  pearly  gates. 

4 

A  sunbeam's  light 
When  days  were  bright, 
A  star  when   night 

Would  darken  home. 
Joy  to  their  sight, 
Their  hearts  delight, 
Sweet  soul  as  white 

As  blown  sea  foam. 

Kind  winds  caress 
The  grave  they  bless ; 
With  tenderness 

Come  shade  and  sun. 
The  yearning  years 
Own  lonely  tears, 
Yet  Jesus  hears 

"Thy  Will  be  Done. 
70 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


STARLIGHT. 


I  mused  on  Moultrie's  sunlit  strand 
One  summer  day  some  summers  gone, 

When  sky  and  sea  and  shining  sand 
Had  Summer's  Southern  splendor  on. 

I  sauntered  there  in  sweet  surcease 
Of  care  one  night  when  silver  bars 

Were  on  the  sea,  and  pictured  peace 
In  dreaming  waves  and  wistful  stars. 

Earth's  glories  held  my  dazzled  gaze 
That  radiant  summer  day  gone  by; 

That  pensive  night  through  starlit  ways 
My  heart  reached  out  to  God  on  high. 

Tears  dim  your  eyes  in  Sorrow's  night. 

But  kneel.     Lo  !     Faith  and  Hope  and  Love 
Bar  Sorrow  with  their  starry  light, 

Caught  from  the  Kindly  Light  above. 


71 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


AN  INNOCENT  VICTIM. 


War  gloomed  the  land;  death  swept  the  plain 
Where  the  battle  raged  with  visage  red, 

And  where  amid  the  maimed  and  slain 
Sisters  of  Mercy,  fearless  sped. 

A  wounded  man,  a  nun  in  prayer — 

Vision  of  peace  in  savage  war, 
An  angel  mid  the  demons  there, 

Sublimer  than  an  Emperor. 

His  blood  is  staunched,  her  prayer  is  said; 

The  bravest  of  the  brave  thou  art. 
Salute  her  !     God  !  that  bullet  sped 

Straight  to  her  vowed  and  virgin  heart. 

White  in  her  hallowed  grace  she  lies, 
Dead  on  the  field  ensanguined  whence 

Her  soul  flew  up  to  Paradise, 
Winged  with  angelic  innocence. 

Laurel  the  victors  in  the  fight, 

And  wreathe  the  graves  of  heroes  dead  ; 
But  let  this  nun,  it  is  her  right, 

With  immortelle  be  garlanded. 

Marble  and  medal  may  record 

The  passing  tale  of  their  renown  ; 

For  her  the  "Well  Done"  of  the  Lord 
And  His  imperishable  crown. 
72 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


For  them  a  paean,  for  her  a  hymn, 
The  spotless  victim  sacrificed 

For  man  beloved,  redeemed  by  Him 
Victim  divine,  our  Saviour  Christ. 

Soldiers  in  tears  bear  her  away, 
Vision  of  love  in  hate  and  war. 

Who  won,  you  ask,  that  direful  day- 
The  love  of  Christ  was  conqueror. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


SUMMITS. 


A  dear  delight  to  leave  the  level  ways 
The  senses  sway,  and  din  of  street  and  mart, 

And  led  by  Talent  and  by  Genius  gaze 
On  treasures  in  their  skyward  temple  Art. 

A  dear  delight  on  that  enchanted  height 
To  worship  Truth  and  Beauty  in  the  hush 

Of  rapture  at  their  forms  of  grace  and  might, 
Wrought  by  Promethean  chisel,  pen  and  brush. 

A  dear  delight.     What  matter  if  we  say- 
In  charming  Meyerbeer  somehow  we  hear 

But  Talent's  voice  ;  or  that  in  pensive  Gray 
But  toiling  Talent's  fairest  fruits  appear. 

A  dear  delight.     What  matter  if  we  hold 

The  magic  touch  of  Genius  is  upon 
Our  Shakespeare  and  on  Homer's  muse  of  old, 

Or  sculptured  splendors  of  the  Parthenon. 

A  dear  delight.      But  yet  a  higher  delight 

Than  Mind  may  owrn,  the  Heart  of  man  beseems 

Far  over  Genius'  over  Talent's  height 

The  higher,  holier  height  of  Goodness  gleams. 

'Tis  well  on  heights  of  Mind  and  Heart  to  bide, 
To  seek  the  highest  height,  divinest  goal, 

The  Mount  where  Christ  our  Love  was  crucified, 
Summit  supreme  of  man's  adoring  soul. 


74 


SONNETS. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


CLOISTERED. 


An  Angel  in  a  far  off  Springtime  hour 
Sped  earthward  from  the  radiant  realms  above, 
To  place  a  seal  supreme  of  Heaven's  love 

On  Heaven's  chosen,  best  beloved  flower. 

He  saw  the  flower  of  passion  and  of  power, 
The  queenly  Rose,  so  fair,  so  wondrous  fair, 
Spurning  the  shade  and  wooing  the  ardent  glare, 

And  saddened  passed  the  Rose's  royal  bower. 

Fain  would  he  find  some  vestal  votaress 

Gracing  the  Spring  with  chastened  beauty  blowrn, 
Some  fairer  flower  to  mark  for  Heaven's  own. 

The  mission  of  the  Angel  was  not  missed  ; 

In  cloistered  spotlessness  he  saw  and  kissed 

And  crowned  the  Lily  in  its  loveliness. 


79 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


IN  MEMORIAM. 


RIGHT  REV.  P.  N.  LYNCH,  D.  D. 

BISHOP   OF   CHARLESTON. 

A  slow  sad  year  has  winged  its  shadowed  fligh 
Green  are  the  grasses  over  him  who  dwelt 
Far  upward  on  the  heights  of  Thought,  and  spelt 

The  wording  of  God's  wisdom,  love  and  might 

On  Time  and  Space,  and  in  the  sun-like  light 
Of  Faith,  there,  on  the  utmost  summits  knelt. 
Kingly  he  was  in  thought — saintlier,  he  felt — 

His  great  heart  bowed  upon  the  higher  height 
Of  Christian  charity.     He  viewed  alone 

The  good  in  men  and  spoke  it  only.     Thus 
With  God  and  man  he  lived,  and  by  his  own, 

To  higher,  better  lives  he  guided  us  ; 

And  so  our  years  shall  hold,  as  this  has  held, 

His  memory  by  prayer  sentineled. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES  . 


THE  LAB  ARUM. 


Peter  alone,  along  the  Appian  Way  ! 
A  few  poor  Fishermen  Apostles  are 
To  win  to  Christ  the  nations  near  and  far. 

Speak,  Catacombs  and  Colosseum,  say 

How  many  million  martyrs  passed  away. 

The  warring  world  the  march  of  Christ  would  bar, 
But  Constantine  beholds  the  crosslike  star, 

The  noonday  presage  of  the  Saviour's  sway. 

Golden  our  age  and  yet  the  Church  owns  grief. 

The  tyrants  of  our  time  are  vandal  Might, 
Mammon  adored  and  deadly  Unbelief, 

Blighting  our  better  day  with  baneful  night. 
But  lo!  illuminating  Christendom, 
in  Coelo,  L,eo's  L,abarum. 


81 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


LEO   XIII. 


The  mourning  millions  in  their  love  enfold 

The  Great  White  Shepherd  who  so  loved  his  sheep, 
Leo,  Christ's  Vicar,  great  and  good,  asleep  ; 

Cold  in  St.  Peter's  lies  his  heart  of  gold, 

His  saintly  brow  in  Heaven  aureoled. 

Priests  at  the  altars  prayerful  vigils  keep  ; 
Peace  for  her  firmest  friend  comes  here  to  weep. 

But  hark,  a  Voice,  a  truth  divine  foretold  — 

Christ's  "Tu  es  Petrus."  Rock-like  He  would  raise 

His  Church.  "Docete  omnes  gentes,"  He 
Declared.  "Ecce  vobiscum  sum,"  all  days 

"Ad  consummationem  saeculi." 

Come  darkest  night,  come  tempest,  earthquake  shock, 

Lumen  in  Coelo  lights  the  steadfast  Rock. 


82 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


A  SILVER  CYCLE. 


AN  EPISCOPAL  JUBILEE. 


What  hallowed  visions  on  this  day  have  met  ! 
The  Saviour  saunters  by  the  sunlit  sea 
And  Peter  hears  his  call : — "Follow  Thou  Me"- 
The  call  that  through  the  ages  echoes  yet 
Thrilling  the  Levite's  soul  where  Christ  will  set 
The  seal  of  Eucharistic  sovereignty  : 
Lo  !  looms  the  Cenacle,  Love's  Mystery. 
And  words  divine  descend  from  Olivet  : 
"The  Father  sendeth  Me,  so  I  send  you, 
Go  teach  all  nations" — the  Episcopate 
God's  priesthood  to  ordain,  direct,  renew 

Through  plenitude  of  the  Apostolate. 
Great  gift  of  God,  these  consecrated  years 
Of  him  whom  every  grateful  heart  reveres. 


83 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


NOON  AT  NAPLES. 


(NAPLES,  JULY  26,  1905.) 


I  stand  imparadised  by  sea  and  sky 

And  crescent  coast  whose  terraces  caress 
Olive  and  vine  ;  by  isles  of  loveliness. 

These  in  their  peerless  beauty  Time  defy. 
Not  so  thy  glories  of  an  age  gone  by  ; 

Time  with  thy  palaces  was  pitiless  ; 
Marbles  broidering  this  Bay  blue  waves  possess, 

And  in  their  depths  triremes  and  galleons  lie. 

So  through  the  noonday  splendor  shadows  pass — 
Decay  and  death  to  kingdoms  and  to  kings, 

To  Art,  to  yonder  Mantuan  bard,  alas  ! 

But  lo,  there  stands  Saint  Paul  and  tidings  brings 

Of  Christ  whose  light  divine  no  shadow  mars, 
Light  of  the  World  outlasting  suns  and  stars. 


84 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


NIGHT  IN  VENICE. 


(VENICE,  AUGUST  9,  1905.) 


Once  glorious  Queen  and  fair  Enchantress  yet. 

Greek,  Ottoman  before  thy  Lions  cowed, 

And  Saracens  to  thy  Crusaders  bowed. 
Here  argosies  from  Orient  oceans  met  ; 
And  can  we  Titian,  Veronese,  forget  ? 

Queen  of  a  radiant  past,  puissant,  proud, 

In  Bucentaur  to  Adriatic  vowed, 
Starshine  for  thee  ;  thy  splendid  sun  has  set. 

Queenly  Enchantress  still,  thy  coronal 

Men's  love,  thine  own,  and  those  who  cross  the  sea, 
Pilgrims  whose  hearts  will  hold  high  festival, 

Dreaming  of  beauty  and  remembering  thee. 
"Ave  Maria"— Oh  !    the  dulcet  bars 
Upon  thy  waters  and  beneath  thy  stars. 


85 


A  WRKATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


ON  LISTED  FIELD. 


All  hail  !  Sir  Knight  all  hail,  but  not  as  when 

In  joust  or  tourney  of  the  olden  days 

When  lance  was  leveled  for  Fair  Ladyes'  praise  ; 
But  in  the  arena  of  the  Press,  we  men 
Salute  the  nobler  knighthood  of  the  Pen, 

And  hail  the  pure  white  banner  they  upraise 

Amid  the  fiercer  civic  battle  blaze — 
The  righteous  knight  nerved  with  the  strength  of  ten. 

A  silver  cycle  of  untarnished  years 

Of  service  for  the  whiteness  of  men's  souls, 

Where  love  of  all  things  clean  and  high  appears 
Hallows  your  pen,  your  knighthood  aureoles. 

God  grant  you  golden  years,  love-panoplied, 

To  serve  us  still,  with  golden  word  and  deed. 


86 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


A  GOLDEN  JUBILEE. 


Hail  holy  Priest,  a  name  almost  divine. 

Over  Christ's  body  real  and  mystical, 

Sovereign  !     When  from  the  Altar  thou  dost  call, 
Comes  Christ  in  consecrated  bread  and  wine, 
Thy  God  obedient  to  word  of  thine. 

Thou  Alter  Christus,  sinners  pardoning, 
Changing  the  sin -cursed  soul  into  a  shrine 

Wherein  is  throned  our  Eucharistic  King. 

Thou  Other  Christ,  to  heal  the  bruised  of  heart, 
To  wipe  from  eyes  bereaved  the  streaming  tears, 

The  peace  of  God  to  sinners  to  impart, 

Thy  heart  God's  own  through  all  these  golden  years 

A  half  a  hundred  !  Younger  brothers  we 

Salute  thee  on  thy  Golden  Jubilee. 


87 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


THE  COLOSSEUM. 


(ROME,  AUGUST  l,  1905.) 


Mighty  memorial  of  Rome's  mighty  sway 
And  of  her  ruin.  Silence  and  solitude 
Brood  where  cruel  emperors  and  vestals  viewed 

Lean  lions  leap  upon  their  Christian  prey 

On  this  ensanguined,  consecrated  clay  ; 

Thousands  on  yonder  towering  tiers  imbued 

Their  souls  in  sainted  blood.     No  stain  to-day 
Upon  these  sacred  sands  once  crimson  hued. 

With  captives  from  destroyed  Jerusalem 

Vespasian,  Titus  wrought  this  wondrous  pile, 

Colossal  monument  to  Rome  and  them. 

How  vast  the  ruin  of  splendor  vast,  erstwhile. 

Thus  trophies  perish,  laurels  fade  ;  not  thus 

Crowns  of  Ignatius  and  Telemachus. 


fig 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


THE  CATACOMBS. 


(CATACOMBS  OF  ST.  CALYXTUS,  ROME,  AUGUST  2, 1905.) 


Darkness  and  silence  and  centurial  gloom 
Shrouding  this  city  of  the  martyred  dead, 
Its  sunless  graves  unflowered,  ungarlanded  : 

Yea,  here  each  caverned  and  embedded  tomb 

Itself  is  sepulchred,  a  double  doom 
To  deep  oblivion  of  saints  who  bled 

For  Christ.     Nay,  nay,  these  tombs  illume 

High  souls  and  higher  paths  they  fain  would  tread. 

Gloom  there  is  here  unto  the  casual  eye 

Untrained  to  look  beyond  the  mill  and  mart, 

And  see  the  triumph  when  the  martyrs  die 
Crowning  their  immolation  of  the  heart. 

Gloom  in  the  Catacombs ;  but  elsewhere  find 

Diviner  radiance  glorifying  mankind. 


89 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


MORNING  AT  MONTMARTRE. 


(PARIS,  AUGUST  21,  1905.) 


Where  are  thy  Lilies,  France,  among  these  weeds, 
Thou  Eldest  Daughter  of  the  Church  ?     How  long 
O  Lord,  how  long  shall  Godless  rulers  wrong 

Her  hallowed  name,  the  while  her  bruised  heart  bleeds  ? 

Here  on  this  Mount  of  Martyrs  intercedes 
All  day,  and  all  the  year,  a  changing  throng, 
Their  love  of  God  and  France  though  wounded,  strong  ; 

And  La  Belle  France  for  thee  a  pilgrim  pleads. 

Even  the  glamour  of  thy  glory  fades 

Upon  thy  brow  bowed  in  the  deepening  dark. 

Ring  out  the  "Deus  Vult"  of  thy  Crusades  ; 

Rise,   France!   France  of  Saint  Louis  and  Jeanne  D' Arc  — 

Republic,  yes,  but  call  back  Christ  to  thee, 

And  golden  memories  of  thy  Fleur  de  Lis. 


90 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


CENTENARY 
MOUNT  ST.  MARY'S  COLLEGE. 


Hail  Mother  !  on  thy  beauteous  brow  unite 
The  glories  of  a  Century — a  Crown, 
A  golden  crown  fitting  thy  fair  renown, 

Throned  in  our  hearts  and  on  this  classic  height. 

The  Mind  finds  here  its  Palace  of  Delight, 
The  Heart  a  Home  from  other  home  apart  ; 
Sweet  Sanctuary  of  the  Soul  thou  art, 

Hallowed  with  radiance  of  the  Kindly  Light. 

God  bless  our  Alma  Mater  aureoled 
With  sanctity  of  sons  her  terrace  trod 

From  priest  to  Cardinal,  whose  hearts  of  gold 
She  formed  and  consecrated  unto  God. 

We  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  all  these  glorious  years, 

We,  loving  sons  and  loyal  Mountaineers. 


91 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


A  LEAF  AND  A  LIFE. 


This  Autumn  leaf  wilted  and  wind-blown  lies, 
Dead  in  its  russet  shroud,  its  velvet  green 
Of  Springtime  faded,  gone  its  glistening  sheen. 

Minister  of  the  Sun  that  vivifies, 

Friend  of  all  living  beings  beneath  the  skies, 
Inhaling  poison  of  the  ambient  air 
And  breathing  vital  breath  for  all  things  fair; 

Yea,  dead,  nourishing  seeds,  in  sheaves,  to  rise. 

So  I  would  live,  grace  sunlike  in  my  soul, 
Servant  of  Christ  and  men  His  brotherhood, 

My  heart  alembic-like  dissolving  dole, 
Transmuting  evil  it  may  meet  to  good; 

Then  leave  this  love  for  men  to  think  upon 

And  nurture  grains  of  good  when  I  am  gone. 


92 


VISION. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


VISION. 


What  is  thy  Vision,  Bard,  demand 

The  lords  of  literature,  the  critics,  when 

The  poet  would  sing  within  their  castled  halls. 

Is  it  the  vision  of  a  voiceless  void, 

Dim  vision  of  a  fathomless  abyss 

Beyond  the  senses'  near  phenomena  ? 

Despairing  vision  of  a  grave  and  then 

Of  dust  and  ultimate  oblivion  ; 

Chantest  thou  anthems  to  insensate  Chance, 

To  Beauty  born  of  mindless  molecules, 

To  Virtue  child  of  nerve  and  ganglion, 

Laudest  thou  Nescience  to  Omnipotence  ? 

Is  thine  the  vision  of  our  ghastly  God, 

The  blind  and  deaf  and  dumb  Unknowable  ? 

Then  enter  in  these  lordly  critics  cry  ; 

Come,  Poet,  sing  in  our  sepulchral  halls. 

And  such  there  are,  alas,  in  this  our  age 
Who  fain  would  dim  the  vision  of  our  God 
And  dwarf  and  darken  man's  high  destiny. 
Would  they  blot  out  the  vitalizing  Sun 
That  quickens  seeds  to  sheaves,  reddens  the  rose, 
Because  they  cannot  solve  its  processes  ? 
They  seek  Life's  secret  in  a  blade  of  grass 
But  even  there  stand  baffled,  blind  and  dumb, 
While  high  in  solar  splendor  shines  its  source. 

97 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Sun  of  my  Soul  !     Thou  Lord  of  Light  and  Life  ! 

Anoint  my  eager  eyes  that  worshipful 

They  may  behold  the  Vision  of  thy  Might, 

Lustrous  with  Love,  on  subject  Time  and  Space, 

On  cell  and  star  and  all  the  rhythmic  laws 

That  hymn  in  perfect  harmony  to  Thee  ; 

To  see  thy  finger  prints  on  radiant  rose 

On  lucent  lily  and  on  azure  skies, 

And  thy  Almighty  hand  upon  the  laws, 

The  keys  that  make  the  music  of  the  spheres  ; 

For  law  in  man  or  nature  is  not  force 

But  its  expression  — shadow  of  the  Hand 

That  steadies  suns  and  systems,  swings  the  stars. 

Grant  us  the  Vision  in  that  other  world, 

The  higher,  holier  world  that  shrines  the  soul, 

Sun  of  my  soul,  to  see  thy  living  Light, 

Its  rays   the  grace  and  glory  of  the  saint. 

The  halo  of  the  cloistered  bride  of  Christ, 

The  flame  in  the  unquailing  martyr's  breast, 

The  light  and  life  of  human  holiness  ; 

Vision  of  greater  beauty  in  the  tear 

That  pity  sheds,  than  in  the  sunset  skies  ; 

Of  Art — not  only  grace  of  face  and  form 

Marking  the  Milo  and  the  Medici, 

But  Vision  of  the  soul  that  lives  enshrined 

Within  the  Pieta  of  Michael  Angelo, 

Or  Raphael's  Madonnas  faith-inspired, 

And  his  Transfiguration's  shining  Christ. 


98 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Vision  of  beauty  crowning  charity, 
Denial,  duty,  virtue,  sacrifice, 
Flowers  of  the  soul  abloom  on  Calvary  ; 
Vision  of  God's  design  in  making  man 
Godlike  in  image,  with  a  deathless  soul, 
With  dignity  and  destiny  divine, 
All  high  ideals  crystallized  in  Christ  ; 
Incarnate  Light  and  Life,  Light  of  the  World, 
Lighting  with  Pentecostal  light  the  minds 
That  pray  to  leave  the  dark  morass  of  doubt ; 
Lighting  the  ways  of  penance  leading  out 
From  dungeoned  slavery  of  souls  in  sin 
To  light  and  freedom  of  the  sons  of  God. 
Lighting  the  chambers  in  the  shadowed  heart 
Dark  for  the  smiling  eyes  that  smile  no  more, 
Lighting  the  night  of  Death  with  gleams  of  dawn, 
The  glory  of  the  Resurrection  morn. 

Ours  be  the  Vision  of  these  altar  stairs 

That  mount  through  light,  not  darkness,  up  to  God, 

Then  nearer  steps  of  Faith  and  Hope  and  Love  ; 

And  ours,  forevermore,  the  last  step  trod, 

The  Beatific  Vision  of  our  God. 


PASSION. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


PASSION. 


The  Arbiters  of  Art,  reflex  of  Life, 
Of  Art  on  canvas,  marble,  stage  or  page, 
For  literature  is  complex  lettered  Art, 
Decree  that  Passion  must  be  pictured  there, 
And  that  the  Poet,  Nature's  own  High  Priest, 
Must  render  homage  to  this  Eidolon. 

Is  it  a  demon  or  the  Deity 

To  whom  the  hymning  High  Priest  of  the  Heart, 

Vested  with  reverence,  must  minister? 

To  whom  is  offered  this  heart-holocaust  ? 

What  the  consuming  fires  of  sacrifice? 

Come  they  from  Heaven  to  cleanse  and  consecrate, 

Or  from  below  to  balefully  destroy  ? 

Where  is  the  Altar  ?     Must  the  poet  seek 

A  pagan  night  and  Paphian  paths  half-lit 

With  sensuous  fires  from  some  Cvtherean  shrine  ? 

Passion — that  unmanned  Antony  and  changed 

The  Sorceress  to  Spectre  of  Old  Nile, 

That  golden  glamour  gone  to  gruesome  gloom, 

Splendor  of  Egypt,  passion -changed  to  shame 

Enduring  as  her  desert  pyramids. 

Passion — is  it  the  flame  of  martyrdom 

Upon  the  altar  of  the  maiden's  heart 

There  in  the  Colosseum,  or  the  blaze 

Of  savagery  in  the  Emperor's  eyes 

Gloating  with  beasts,  on  virgin  flesh  and  blood  ; 

1C4 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


The  fire  that  raged  in  demon  hearts  around 

The  worshipped  wanton  throned  in  Notre  Dame, 

Or  the  white  flame  that  canonized  Jean  D'Arc  — 

Halo,  forever,  on  thy  Lilies  France  ! 

Is  it  the  pagan  fire  or  purer  flame 

That  fused  the  dross  in  great  Augustine's  heart ; 

Passion  of  Lancelot  or  Galahad, 

The  quest  of  erring  Queen  or  Holy  Grail  ; 

That  blighted  knighthood  and  the  Table  Round 

Or  blent  with  whiteness  of  King  Arthur's  soul  ; 

And  in  the  priestly  heart  of  Damien 

Lit  the  lone  way  to  leprous  Molokai. 

Yea,  Poet,  this  it  is,  transmuting  fire, 
Aflame  in  crucibles  of  human  hearts, 
Refining  crude  affections,  earthen  aims 
And  changing  love  of  self  to  love  of  Christ 
And  men  for  whom  He  died  upon  the  Cross. 
It  is  the  grace-lit  cleansing,  chastening  fire 
Consuming  dross  and  rust  and  all  alloy 
And  leaving  love  most  pure  in  golden  hearts  ; 
The  burning  love  of  Christ,  the  fire  divine, 
That  made  of  Magdalen  the  sinner-saint. 

Poet  of  Passion,  lo  !  thy  altar  gleams 
Where  passion  pure  flames  in  the  heart  most  pure, 
Shrined  in  this  Temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 
Minister  there  to  consecrated  love  ; 
And  God  is  Love  ;   and  on  that  altar  glows 
Passion  of  Patience,  when  the  soul  is  torn 
Some  night  forlorn  in  some  Gethsemine  ; 
Passion  of  Silence,  test  supreme  of  strength, 
When  deadly  Wrong  assails  the  soul  serene  ; 
Passion  of  Resignation  when  the  soul 
Bereft  of  all  can  pray  "Thy  will  be  done  ;" 
105 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Passion  of  Sacrifice,  when  on  some  Cross 
The  soul  leans  lovingly  to  Christ  nailed  there  ; 
Passion  of  Adoration  when  the  heart 
Aflame  with  love  is  fused  in  Love  divine 
And  worshipful  the  soul  to  Heaven  ascends  ; 
When  earth  with  all  its  fierce,  unhallowed  fires, 
Even  their  smouldering  embers  quenched  and  cold 
Earth  with  its  ashen  roses,  dead  desires, 
Its  shrivelled  idols  and  its  cindered  sins, 
Slips  from  our  feet  of  clay  that  stand  unshod 
There  in  the  Temple  of  the  Triune  God. 

This  rose-like  flame  of  Passion,  Poet  sing 
Whether  a  rod  or  wreath  the  critics  bring. 
Sing  Love,  the  Sacramental  of  the  soul  — 
Its  light  thy  Christian  Muse  will  aureole. 


106 


IN   COLLEGE  DAYS. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


THE  ROBINS'  SONG. 


Away,  away  with  the  icicles, 

With  the  grasses'  snowy  cover  ; 
Come  again  the  green  to  the  russet  hills 
Come  again  to  the  valleys  the  clover. 
Away,  away  with  the  cloud  and  the  gloom 
With  the  skeleton  branches  that  sadden  ; 
Come  again  to  the  forest  and  field  the  bloom 
Come  again  the  skies  that  gladden. 

"Cheer  up  !  cheer  up"  the  robins  sing 

Sing  in  the  valley  cheerily  ; 
"Cheer  up  !  cheer  up"  the  robins  sing 
Sing  on  the  mountain  cheerily 
Sing  in  our  hearts  so  cheerily. 

Old  eyes,  young  eyes,  like  the  meadows  and  skies 

Let  your  smiles  be  brighter  and  brighter  ; 
Hearts,  echo  the  songs  that  joyously  rise, 

Let  your  cares  be  lighter  and  lighter  ; 
Depart,  depart  from  the  shadowed  heart 

Grim  ghost  of  the  days  that  were  cheerless; 
Hasten  thy  coming  glad  Spring  for  thou  art 
The  soul  of  the  days  that  are  tearless. 

"Cheer  up  !  cheer  up"  the  robins  sing. 

Sing  in  the  valley  cheerily  ; 
"Cheer  up  !  cheer  up"  the  robins  sing 
Sing  on  the  mountain  cheerily 
Sing  in  our  hearts  so  cheerily. 


Ill 


A  WKEATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


SINGING  ON  THE  TERRACE. 


The  day  is  done,  the  setting  sun 

No  longer  lends  its  golden  splendor 
To  college  walls,  where  moonlight  falls 

A  silvery  veil  with  witchery  tender. 
Where  players  sprang  and  laughter  rang, 

We  pace  the  terrace  pensively  ; 
Books  are  forgot,  each  college  spot 

Is  hallowed  in  our  reverie, 

While  singing  on  the  Terrace. 


The  head  grows  still,  the  heart  athrill, 

Is  with  the  loved  of  other  years, 
And  sounding  seas  and  sighing  trees 

Are  undertones  the  spirit  hears. 
We  sing  our  song  and  faces  throng 

The  terrace  and  the  mountain  height. 
Through  moonlit  skies  come  lovelit  eyes, 

That  wistful  make  our  own  to-night, 
While  singing  on  the  Terrace. 


112 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


That  sweetest  tone,  our  mother's  own, 
Comes  back  along  the  years,  and  makes 

^flp, 

That  song  we  sing  a  sacred  thing, 
In  which  the  heart  to  love  awakes. 

Yes,  loved  ye  are,  O  voices  far, 

That  made  our  moments  music  then; 

O  sunny  days,  we  sing  your  praise, 
And  call  you  back  to  life  again, 
While  singing  on  the  Terrace. 


Sing  on,  sing  on;  when  days  are  gone, 

Melodious  as  the  songs  we  sing, 
When  clouded  years  bring  flowing  tears, 

The  echoes  of  our  songs  shall  ring 
Through  songless  days  and  darkened  ways, 

And  Alma  Mater's  peace  impart, 
And  memory  to  melody 

Attune  again  the  weary  heart, 
Once  singing  on  the  Terrace. 


113 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


THE  CHURCH  UPON  THK  HILL. 


The  current  of  my  youthful  thoughts 

So  wont  to  seek  the  glow 
That  radiates  from  Lotos  Lauds 

Now  glides  in  deeper  flow, 
And  straight  it  swiftly  speeds  to  thee, 

Thou  haven  safe  and  still, 
Of  tempest-tossed  and  weary  souls, 

Old  Church  upon  the  Hill. 


The  toilers  in  the  teeming  fields 

Look  up  with  love  and  hail 
Thy  form  upon  the  Mountain  side, 

Throned  warden  of  the  vale: 
Morning's  first  rays  dart  up  to  thee, 

And  setting  sunbeams  fill 
Thy  chancel  with  a  splendor  then, 

Old  Church  upon  the  Hill. 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES, 


No  Raphael's  genius  put  a  soul 

In  thy  old  hallowed  walls; 
No  arch  or  pillar,  wondrous  fair, 

An  Angelo  recalls: 
But  glories  greater  far  are  thine 

And  all  thy  being  fill, 
Shrining  our  Eucharistic  Christ, 

Old  Church  upon  the  Hill. 


Fond  hearts  can  paint  where  Art  has  not 

And  Beauty's  spell  infuse; 
And  ours  transfigure  thee,  Old  Church, 

With  love's  surpassing  hues. 
And  come  what  will  of  smiles  or  tears, 

These  hearts  will  love  thee  still 
Through  all  the  unforgetting  years, 

Old  Church  upon  the  Hill. 


115 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


OUT  TO  THE  HARBOR  BAR. 


Away,  far  away,  on  the  crested  waves > 
In  the  Summer  breeze's  embraces, 

Our  yacht  flies  on  through  the  spray  that  laves 
Our  sunlit  and  shadowless  faces; 

(rlad  as  the  gleaming  gulls  and  as  free 
A  day  from  the  deep  we  borrow, 

Happy  with  sunshine,  breeze  and  sea- 
To-day,  who  recks  of  to-morrow? 


With  never  a  qualm  for  the  drenching  we  get. 

Or  the  bronze  that  our  faces  are  taking, 
We  seaward  head  her,  all  canvas  set, 

Out  where  the  billows  are  breaking, 
And  cheer  as  we  rock  on  the  foaming  tide, 

Glowing  in  the  day-god's  glances, 
To  see,  as  if  with  the  sunbeams  she  vied, 

How  our  Ocean  Queen  daintily  dances. 


116 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


The  breakers  that  bound,  as  if  but  to  crush, 

Bow  and  their  homage  render; 
The  sun  in  his  parting  and  purple  flush 

Enfolds  her  in  tenderer  splendor; 
Mellower  the  voice  of  the  sounding  deep, 

The  surf  on  the  shingle  sending; 
^Eolian  the  winds  through  her  cordage  sweep, 

Their  tones  with  our  chorus  blending. 


From  the  blue  afar,  the  evening  star 

Beams  on  the  drowsy  ocean, 
As  back  from  our  run  to  the  harbor  bar 

We  glide  with  a  dreamy  motion. 
Oh!  joy,  to  be  askings  as  free, 

The  billows  beneath,  the  skies  above  us; 
Loved  best  are  we  when  the  sun  and  the  sea 

And  the  Summer  breezes  love  us. 

Summer  Vacation. 


117 


A  WREATH  OF  ILKX  LEAVES. 


NIGHT  PRAYKRS  ON  THE  MOUNTAIN. 


Above  in  moonless  skies  no  stars  are  gleaming 

To  light  the  night; 

But  clown  the  mountain  from  the  Church  comes  streaming 
The  chastened  light. 


Our  upward  way  in  silence  wre  are  wending 

To  evening  prayers, 
While  with  our  higher,  lower  thoughts  are  blending- 

Youth's  fleeting  cares. 


Toilsome  we  climb,  but  comes  the  olden  story 

To  urge  our  zest, 
That  arduous  summits  won  own  greater  glory, 

Sweeter  rest. 


We  kneel.     The  Stabat  Mater's  notes  are  filling 

The  Church  and  tell 
Of  tears;  and  yet  with  bliss  our  hearts  are  thrilling 

Beneath  a  spell. 


118 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


Sweet  peace  abides;  all  holy  things  grow  dearer; 

Here  God  controls 
Each  thought  and  Heaven  comes  a  little  nearer 

Our  wayward  souls. 


Our  prayers  are  said  and  in  our  hearts  is  glowing 

The  Kindly  Light, 
And  lingers  still  the  spell  on  students  going 

Into  the  night. 


How  changed!     The  moonbeams  up  the  vale  have  darted; 

Far  down  the  West 
The  darkness  flees.     Tired  toilers  happy-hearted 

Are  blest  with  rest. 


For  echoes  of  our  hymn  hushed  winds  are  listening; 

O'er  mount  and  dell 
Resigns  Peace.   I,o!  pictured  in  the  moon's  calm  glistening 

Behold  our  spell. 


119 


A  WKKATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


CREED. 


I  believe  that  weak  hearts  die 
Who,  loving  self,  their  idol  deify; 

Poor  Hedonists  with  Lotos  filleted 
And  poppy -perfumed  through  ignoble  hours. 
So  sacrifice,  denial,  Calvary's  flowers, 

Mid  weedy  thoughts  of  self  fall  withered,  dead, 


I  believe  though  years  shall  die 

And  Time  the  gladness  of  like  days  deny, 

Those  days  that  left  their  summer  in  the  heart, 
Still  over  intervening  pines  or  seas 
Old  songs  shall  echo,  sweetest  melodies 

Within  my  songless  heart  where'er  thou  art. 


I  believe  if  you  should  die 

And  lie  by  moaning  waves  or  pines  that  sigh, 

The  radiant  memories  of  those  Mountain  days 
Would  not  lie  dead,  but  risen  beautified, 
Would  be  like  white-robed  Angels  by  my  side, 

To  guide  me  upward  through  unsunny  ways. 


120 


A  WREATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


I  believe  if  I  should  die 

And  lie  forgot  beneath  some  far-off  sky, 

Above,  the  while,  I  should  look  down  on  you, 
On  happy  hearts  your  own  would  render  so, 
And  pray  as  in  those  dear,  dead  days  below — 

The  songful  summer  days  on  Earth  we  knew. 


I  believe  when  we  shall  die 

And  other  hearts  shall  pass  unheeding  by 

The  dear  old  Mountain  paths  we  erstwhile  trod, 
We  two  upon  the  "everlasting  hills" 
Shall  know  no  death,  but  life  that  thrills 

The  raptured  soul  forevermore  with  God. 


I  believe  that  strong  hearts  live 

Blest  with  the  deepest  bliss  the  years  may  give, 

Who  love,  but  loving  tremblingly  adore; 
Who  see  the  higher  beauty  from  above 
In  beauteous  beings,  and  leaving  love,  still  love 

God's  creatures  not  the  less  but  God  the  more. 


121 


A  WRKATH  OF  ILEX  LEAVES. 


GOOD  FRIDAY. 


We  knelt  upon  the  hill  to-day, 

Knelt  in  the  dear  old  Church  with  hearts  bowed  low 
On  Cavalry,  far,  far  away, 
That  saw  the  Saviour's  woe. 

Ah  me!  what  hearts  low  bowed, 
What  tenderer  hearts  upon  that  day  far  off, 
Kneeling  amid  the  maddened  crowd, 
Were  bruised  by  jeer  and  scoff. 

More  deeply  bruised  those  hearts  athrill 
With  love  and  pain,  long  centuries  ago, 
To  view  upon  that  other  hill 
God's  utterness  of  woe. 

A  woe  was  there  beyond  the  lance, 
Beyond  the  nails,  the  thorns,  the  bitter  wood, 
The  woe  of  Christ's  pained,  pitying  glance 
At  our  ingratitude. 

Ah  yes,  for  me  Death  swept 

Athwart  that  hill,  the  great  Heart  bleeding  broke; 
Earth  darkling  shuddered,  Heaven  wept, 
A  world  redeemed  awoke. 

Lord,  lift  me  to  some  hill 
Of  prayer,  of  pain  if  so  Thy  will  should  be, 
My  heart  upon  some  Cross  until 
Bruised,  it  bleeds  for  Thee. 

122 


UNIVJ 
This  bo 


*  'IN  1  V  J^lVv^i  x    &     c»i    v^rTiJ-.«i 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 
LIBRARY 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACI  ITY 


A     000  923  453     5 


PS 

3507 


